


Safe and (the) Sound

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Anal Sex, Angst, Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse (minor), Coitus Interruptus, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Bucky Barnes/Brock Rumlow, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone, Smut, UST, Wanda/Sam if you squint really hard, coitus interruptus AGAINus, past Bucky Barnes/Alexander Pierce, past emotional abuse, seriously stop interrupting us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 84,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony dropped out of college to get away from his abusive father. When his longtime boyfriend reveals similar tendencies, Tony refuses to endure another moment of it, running away with nothing more than the cash in his pockets. He makes it to Virginia, where he's taken in by Bucky, a restaurant owner looking for an extra hand who's willing to be paid cash under the table.Bucky's been struggling for years: to keep the beachside restaurant he inherited from his parents above water (both financially and literally); to live down the fact that he's gay in a small southern town; to get over the man who's owned his heart since he was fourteen. But he's never had to struggle as hard as he is now, to keep his hands off Tony.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will post Thursdays and Sundays until it's done! 
> 
> A fill for the [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com) blog answering this anonymous prompt: "Tony was in a bad relationship with someone and had to skip town to keep himself safe. Tony goes into hiding. He comes along a small town and a little diner/bar that is hiring. Using a false name he takes a job. The place is run by Bucky and co. (Steve, Natasha, etc.) Bucky starts to fall for the mysterious person that doesn't share much about his past. Tony thinks things are starting to look up, until his ex comes looking for him. Overprotective Bucky comes to the rescue."
> 
> I swear to god, we were just going to write maybe 15k, and then... this happened. We wrote an entire 75k+ novel in _less than a week_ , it ate our brains so hard. We apologize for any horrific mistakes made as a result of this rushed schedule, and offer our undying gratitude to our beta reader, [skye07](http://skye07.tumblr.com)!!! It wouldn't be half as coherent without your help!

[ ](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/post/163000815499/okay-but-this-idea-would-not-leave-me-alone-so-i)

[](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WeW01Xzd3NFJoWWM)

The entire world shuddered to a stop.

Tony lifted a hand to the side of his face and it was already tender, hot to the touch, the sound of the impact still echoing.

“Tony,” Ty said roughly, his eyes wide in shock. “You... You know I didn’t mean to do that, I never would have done that if I wasn’t so stressed out over this presentation, baby, you _know_ that.”

Dad had always had excuses, too. Ty waited for Tony to say something, but there weren’t words.

“Come on,” Ty cajoled, “it was just an accident, right? I’m not really mad at you, okay?” He crossed the room and reached, then pulled back when Tony flinched away. “Don’t be like that, I’ll make this up to you, all right? I’ll--” His phone started beeping urgently.

Ty cursed and dragged it out of his pocket to glance at the screen and silence the alarm. “I have to get back,” he said. “This presentation, it’s _important_.” It was important to Ty, anyway. His promotion -- his future in the firm -- hinged on it.

Tony kept watching Ty, only half-listening, more aware of the way his face was stinging as blood rushed into the damaged tissue on his cheekbone and the side of his eye.

Ty had sworn. He had _sworn_ , when he’d asked Tony to move in with him, that Tony’s days as Howard’s victim were done. That no one would ever hit Tony again. And Ty... Ty had a temper, but he took it out on _things_ \-- dishes and knicknacks and books and Tony’s laptop, once -- but he’d never hurt Tony. Not until now.

“I know I’ve been working too much lately,” Ty said, “but it’s just... it’s so important to me that I can be able to _take care_ of you, Tony. I need to be able to make you happy.” He put on his most winsome smile and sad eyes. “You... know that, right?”

“I know,” Tony said, because arguing with Ty was pointless. Even that bit of talking made his face hurt more. “You should go. You don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, I just... You’re gonna be okay, right baby?” Ty scooped up his suit jacket from where he’d dropped it when he’d come in to have lunch. “This is going to change our lives, Tony, you’ll see. I’ll come back right after, as soon as I’m done, and then I’ll make it up to you, okay? Anything you want, I promise.”

Tony nodded, and Ty flashed a brilliant grin. He swooped in and ignored Tony’s flinch to plant a gentle kiss on his uninjured cheek, and then dashed out the door.

 _What I want_ , Tony thought, his thoughts running slow like syrup but crystal clear, _is to never be hit again_.

It was several long minutes before he could even move, and then it was only to slump down onto the edge of the bed, shivering and gasping for breath.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, waiting for his heart to stop fluttering in his chest like a frightened bird, fighting for air like he was sucking it through a straw, his skin running alternately hot and cold.

God, he’d been so _stupid_. He’d thought Ty was the best thing that had ever happened to him, given him a foothold and the courage he’d needed to get out from under his father’s thumb. Why hadn’t he seen that he’d just been trading one bad situation for another? And now that Ty had hit him once -- it would certainly happen again, if Tony forgave it, let it go. It _would_ happen again. And again. And again.

No. He couldn’t go through that again. He _wouldn’t_. _Never again_. He’d spent years coddling Ty’s jealousy, letting Ty pull him further and further from his few friends, letting Ty take more and more control of his life.

And now, what could he do? The apartment was in Ty’s name. The car was in Ty’s name. The _bank account_ was in Ty’s name. Tony had to leave, but all he had was the cash in his wallet and whatever he could carry, and he hadn’t spoken to anyone who wasn’t a friend of Ty’s in... two years? Three?

 _Fuck_.

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face, hissing as he scraped over the swelling bruise, and gave himself just five more minutes to give in to the pain and the fear and the grief. Five minutes, and that was all, because he had to be gone before Ty came back.

Five minutes passed, and Tony forced himself to stand up and go to the closet. He considered the expensive travel luggage, but no -- it would be too hard to lug around, and too conspicuous. He dug past it and found his old backpack, from when he’d been a student. (Ty had promised that he could go back to school some day. But those had been empty promises, hadn’t they?)

He pushed that aside; he didn’t have time to list all of Ty’s wrongs against him. Tony had to pack. Underwear and t-shirts. One extra pair of jeans. Socks. A hoodie. A minimal tool kit: multitool, some coiled wire, duct tape. He didn’t want to keep any of the things Ty had given him, and the things that might be worth pawning were engraved. Recognizable. He didn’t have time for it, anyway. He considered his books, but books were heavy.

Tony glanced at the clock. Fuck, he’d wasted too much time to the shock. He had maybe an hour left before Ty came back, and he needed to be long gone before then. He tossed his phone onto the bed -- his account was attached to Ty’s, of course -- then fished his wallet out of his pocket and rifled through it. The credit card followed the phone as being too easy to track. Driver’s licenses had RFID chips in them now, too, didn’t they? His Metrocard was trackable, but it would get him as far as Grand Central, at least. He wouldn’t need his Kung Pao Takeout loyalty card, or half-a-dozen old receipts, or... Christ, there was a lot of junk in his wallet. Hurriedly, he dumped it all out and counted the cash; he had about fifty dollars. _Shit_.

One last time check -- Shit, he’d have to _run_ to catch the next train -- and he was out the door. He left it standing open; if he was lucky, some opportunistic robber would come in and help themselves to Ty’s things and confuse the trail.

***

Grand Central Station was a madhouse this close to rush hour. Tony clutched his backpack tightly and twisted through the crowds, making sure to drop his Metrocard. Someone would find it and use it, and if Ty had it tracked, it would go... somewhere that Tony wasn’t.

It was about a mile from Grand Central to Penn Station. The clock ticked in Tony’s ears like a bomb counting down, and he jogged the whole way.

Tony squinted at the bus destination board. No big cities, that was too obvious. No one-cow towns, either; there was no way to blend in. What he needed was a nice, middling-sized city, with a bus leaving in the next fifteen minutes. And a ticket that, preferably, wouldn’t use up _all_ his cash.

Virginia Beach stood out. Beaches were nice, Tony thought, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything like a vacation. Beaches were full of tourists, where Tony’s accent wouldn’t be remarkable, where people lost their IDs and credit cards all the time and so lots of places accepted cash that wouldn’t, otherwise. They were coming up on summer, so he might be able to find work doing odd jobs. And a transient population meant that it would be easier to not only blend in with the crowds, but to move around.

The ticket was only $35. And the bus was a red-eye due to arrive around dawn the next morning, which meant Tony had a place to sleep for the night, even if it was a seat on a bus.

Right. Virginia Beach it was.

***

“I am going to kill Bobbi,” Bucky said, shoving Clint’s shit into a duffle bag. This was the third time in two years that Bobbi Morse had shown up, flirted a little with Clint, and suddenly Bucky was short both a renter and an employee. If Clint wasn’t such a loveable asshole, Bucky wouldn’t have given him his job back the first time. That, and no one else really wanted the damn job in the first place. Washing dishes by hand, sweeping the floor, and bussing tables was not exactly fun, and in the tourist town, it was hard work, too.

The restaurant was failing, slowly but surely, Bucky knew that, so the wages he could offer weren’t great, either. The only good thing about the job was that it came with meals and a discount on rent for the little apartment over the garage that Bucky used to try to earn a little extra on the side. Bucky had paid Clint under the table and taken the rent out of it directly, which was a nice arrangement for them both.

At least, it was nice right up until Bobbi had showed up flush with cash -- she was a professional card cheat -- and dragged Clint off for another of their whirlwind adventures. The two of them would be gone for _months_. And tourist season was just starting. If Bucky had to bus tables as well as manage the restaurant and cook on Steve’s off-shifts, he was going to die of sleep deprivation. “ _Kill_ her,” he stressed. She couldn’t have waited until September to steal Clint again?

“You always say that, and yet, you never do,” Nat said, pulling her hair back in a ponytail and grabbing the broom. “I’ll take bus-and-sweep today. Maybe Steve can do dishes in between cooking?”

“I don’t do dishes,” Steve yelled from the back. That man had ears like an elephant, he could hear a whisper a mile away, especially when it was about doing extra work. “I’ll bus, but I don’t like cooking when my fingers are all raisin-y.”

Natasha brandished the broom threateningly. “You know that sex you wanted to have, like ever again? Do the damn dishes, Steve.”

“Call Sam,” Steve suggested. “I heard his transmission is going out. He might need the extra work for a few days?”

“You call Sam,” Bucky said. There weren’t customers yet; technically they opened at eleven on weekdays -- brunch on Saturday and Sunday started at nine -- but they usually didn’t start having sitdowns until half-past. “I’ll put a sign up and call down to the paper.” Who knew, maybe someone in this town had a teenager who needed some work. That wasn’t likely -- there wasn’t any public transportation that stopped close to the restaurant, and teens who had cars also had access to better-paying jobs. But who knew? Some day, one day, Bucky’s luck would change. Maybe.

Bucky went to the supply closet and cussed for a while. Part of Clint’s job was also keeping that room neat, but of course he didn’t do it. Mostly he did dishes and stole food and table scraps for his dog -- oh, Christ, that was another thing to check. Had he left Lucky, or had he and Bobbi remembered to take the dog with them? -- and flirted with the customers. Clint wasn’t a bad guy, he was just… directionless.

On the other hand, Clint was on his way to Nevada with the love of his life and he’d probably come back in four months with a lot of amazing stories, which was more than Bucky had ever done. Dockside had been his parents’ place -- a beach restaurant that served greasy burgers, fries, crabcakes, and whatever catch of the day Bucky could buy off the boats before the bigger places crowded him out -- and Bucky had never been more than two hundred miles from home in his whole life. So, maybe Clint had a better life philosophy than Bucky did. It was just inconvenient for the rest of them.

Finally, Bucky found the signs: _Help Wanted_ and _Room for Rent_. He brushed them off; Clint had obviously been eating in the closet, since there were crumbs everywhere. Bucky made a mental note to get more insecticide. The last thing he needed at the beginning of tourist season was an infestation of palmetto bugs. Palmetto bugs were enormous, _flying_ cousins to roaches, fully an inch and a half long, and they freaked the tourists right out. Not that Bucky would blame them at all; he’d been known to shriek when one of them scuttered out from under something, too. And then there’d be problems with Maria Hill, the local Health Inspector.

Bucky hung the signs in the window, then took the broom from Nat. The porch should be swept, too, even though that was a hopeless task. The beach sand always ended up everywhere. But it gave him a few minutes to be outdoors, breathing in the brackish scent of the sea, combined with a mild odor of seaweed and dead fish. It was home. He couldn’t give up now.

Turned out Sam had managed to win two hundred dollars on a scratcher, and while he was willing to help Bucky while the Dockside was shorthanded, he didn’t need a second job. Bucky would send Nat out to the S-turn later in the afternoon. The local teens hung out there near the little inlet, and they might know someone who needed the work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have been blessed with SO MUCH amazing art from SO MANY amazing artists, starting with the titles on this chapter by [monobuu](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/) and [ssyn3](http://ssyn3.tumblr.com/)! Check the notes at the end of the work for the full list of credits!
> 
> *Note - The art is sometimes not visible on mobile devices. We're not sure why that's _sometimes_ instead of _always_ or _never_ but whatever! The art is all linked to original posts and/or larger sizes, so if you click/tap, you should be able to see it anyway!


	2. Chapter 2

Tony couldn’t quite get over how short all the buildings were -- few of them topped three stories. It was like being in the suburbs without having a city to attach to. And parking seemed almost absurdly abundant, though that didn’t do Tony any good.

Worse, public transportation was... not robust. And Tony had to make what was left of his money count. He’d left the Greyhound station and headed east, toward the beach, but he’d been walking down this road for what seemed like _hours_. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually come far enough south for the weather to be this much hotter, or if it was just that he wasn’t usually outside for this long at a stretch. He finally stopped when his vision filled with sparkles. Tony hadn’t eaten or drunk more than bus-stop coffee for most of a day.

He was standing in front of a tiny little mom-and-pop hardware store; mulch and sawdust scented the air. Worth a try, he thought. He was familiar with tools, enough to use them, certainly enough to sell them. He waited until his head had stopped swimming, then walked into the little store.

There was an honest-to-god set of physical chimes hanging on the inside of the door. Tony would have smirked at it, but the burst of air conditioning and sudden shift in temperature made him feel dizzy again. He paused to blink away the spots in front of his eyes, leaning casually on a display of gardening tools.

There was only one register at the front, manned by a middle-aged man with a round, red face and thin, graying hair. “Afternoon,” the man said. “Help you find anything?”

“Uh,” Tony said. He’d come in here for something, and he was going to remember it as soon as-- Oh, right. “You got anything to drink? Soda or juice or something?”

“Sure, there’s a cooler just there.” The guy gestured laconically toward the wall. “Hot out there today, ain’t it?”

Why was he still _talking_? Tony managed a half-smile and trudged over to the cooler. Oh, juice, thank god. He pulled out a bottle, not even caring what flavor it was. He cracked it and started chugging it without even closing the cooler door.

“Hey, Harry-Rex,” a man said, “you got any of that spray roach killer --” He stopped dead just before he slammed into Tony, all but windmilling his arms like a cartoon character. “Whoa, sorry! Didn’t know there was anyone else in here. Where the hell’d you come from?” He had a basket in one hand and was carrying two cans of paint balanced precipitously in the other.

“New York,” Tony answered without thinking, still half-dumb from thirst and the heat. The guy was good-looking, under his ballcap and messy hair, and when he grinned at Tony’s answer -- guess it _had_ come out a little snarky -- it seemed nice. Friendly, not like Ty’s smile, which always seemed at least halfway to mocking. “No harm done.”

The man gawked at Tony then, and his blue eyes widened. “Woah, Big City, where’d you pick up that shiner? You shoulda had ice on that hours ago.” He put his paint cans down on the counter and without waiting for permission, tipped Tony’s head up to inspect the injury.

Tony flinched at the touch, but the guy didn’t prod at the bruise, just gently turned Tony’s face toward the light.

“Bar fight, I bet,” the cashier -- Harry-Rex, apparently -- chuckled. “Cops were out in force last night. College students on the beach again. Eh, what can ya do, right, Bucky? Lemme see, I might have a cold pack in the kit. An’ I’ll get that pesticide for ya. Just keep an eye on the door?”

Beyond a doubt, this was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to Tony. “It’s fine,” he said belatedly. “I don’t need the ice, I can’t--” He huffed a breath and made himself step back away from -- Bucky, _really?_ \-- Bucky’s grip. “It’ll be fine,” he said.

“Sure,” Bucky said, easy. “But it’ll be fine faster with an ice pack and some aspirins. That’s gotta hurt. Besides, Harry-Rex’ll just fuss, if you don’t. He used to patch me and Stevie up all the time, when we were kids.” Bucky leaned his hip against the counter and started unloading his supplies: paint, brush, some wire, and a couple of hinges. “Damn door blew off in the last windstorm, now I gotta fix it. Which’ll be fun; I ain’t exactly handy with tools. You here on vacation?”

Christ, people around here talked a lot. Who just struck up random conversations with strangers? “Not really,” Tony said. “More like relocating, I guess.” He considered the hinges. “Hanging a door isn’t that hard,” he offered. “I’ve done a few. You can probably find some good tutorials on youtube.”

Harry-Rex came back, crushing an ice pack in one massive hand. He dropped two packets of generic ibuprofen on the counter and kicked a plastic container of pesticide toward Bucky. With nothing like what Tony would consider efficiency, he started scanning in Bucky’s purchases, talking about his garden, which was looking good for zucchini, apparently.

Tony tuned out the chatter and instead ripped open one of the packets and washed the pills down with the last of the juice. God, that was good. Too bad he couldn’t afford more. Couldn’t really afford that one, if he had to be honest. He eyed Harry-Rex sidelong. “Don’t suppose you’re hiring?” he asked.

Harry-Rex shook his head. “Nah, we don’t get enough custom for’t.”

Bucky spoke up. “If you’re looking for work -- hey, get this, Harry-Rex, guess who showed up day before yesterday? Bobbi flippin’ Morse!”

“Aw, so you’re short-handed again, I guess. Clint never did have sense where that woman was concerned.”

“Would serve him right if I replaced his sorry ass,” Bucky said. He turned back to Tony. “I need a dishwasher, busboy, broom-pusher, basically, you know. It’s not much, but it is full-time. Two meals a day. I own Dockside, down in Sandbridge. Fried fish and burger joint.”

Tony had never worked in a restaurant -- he’d mostly worked as a mechanic since he’d left home -- but washing dishes and pushing a broom wasn’t exactly rocket science. And it came with meals, which the ache in his stomach found damned appealing. If nothing else, it was something he could do while he figured out what to do with his new life. Not like he could give job references or a resume. “That sounds pretty good,” he told Bucky. “Though I, ah, kind of lost my ID, so...”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t ask. “That works out for everyone, then. I can pay you under the table an’ nobody’s gotta worry about forms and taxes. What’s your name, Big City?”

“Tony,” he said without thinking, and barely stopped himself from grimacing at the stupidity. If Ty reported him missing... Well, at least Tony was a common enough name. He didn’t dare give his real last name, though. “Tony Edwards.” There, that was... close enough that he wouldn’t forget it.

“I’m Bucky Barnes, owner/operator. Nice to meet you. This is great,” he said, sounding like he meant it. And the way Bucky was grinning was inviting. “Just follow Atlantic Avenue down to Sandbridge, ‘bout ten miles. You can’t miss it. Dockside is the big building, next to the dock, obviously.”

Ten miles? Shit. Tony set his empty juice bottle on the counter for Harry-Rex to scan. “What’s the nearest bus stop?”

Bucky snorted. “You’re at it, pal. Sandbridge is way down the beaten path. Where you stayin’? My waitress and cook live up here in town, you can probably carpool. Of course, you risk having Steve sing at you, which is a fate worse than death, I assure you.”

Tony grinned uneasily. “I just got into town, really, a couple of hours ago. Haven’t had time to make arrangements yet.”

Harry-Rex gave Bucky a raised eyebrow. “Did Clint take the dog?”

“No, no he did not,” Bucky sighed. He held up one hand, as if requesting a bit of patience. “Clint left me in a bind in more ways’n one. He’d been renting the apartment over my garage, too. Left his dog with me. If you don’t mind sharin’ a space with the pizza dog you can stay there, just until you make other arrangements, an’ I find someone to take Lucky until Clint staggers back into town probably in September, unless Bobbi manages to actually make her money last in Las Vegas…”

Harry-Rex hummed under his breath, then gave Bucky a gap-toothed smile. “Do you hear banjos?”

“God, shut up, Harry-Rex,” Bucky said. He rolled his eyes. “I ain’t like that. You’re gonna give Big City a heart attack.”

Tony laughed, though it was all awfully convenient. There had to be a catch, somewhere. There was no such thing as a free lunch. Maybe Bucky’s restaurant was a smuggling front. Though smuggling from _where_ , he didn’t know, when the local airport was small enough to spit from one side to the other and the nearest foreign border was several hundred miles away.

Either way, until he found out, at least he’d have room and board and a little money coming in. “Think I can manage to hold my own, if it comes to it,” he said. “I’m in. One question, though. Why ‘pizza dog’?”

“Lucky doesn’t eat dog food, he eats table-scraps. Pizza, fish sandwiches, pretty much anything on your plate. He doesn’t have much respect for personal space,” Bucky said. He counted off bills and handed them over to Harry-Rex. “Come on, grab this, wouldya? My truck’s out front. Come on out, in a few days, Harry-Rex. Bring June. I’ll make up a fish-fry special and we’ll have us some talk, yeah?”

Christ, _more_ talking? Suppressing a sigh, Tony put the ice pack down, picked up Bucky’s purchases, and followed him back out of the store.

Bucky loaded the bags into the bed of a rather beat-up Dodge Ram. “Harry-Rex’ll feel better, if he sees you’re doin’ okay in a few days. And, might as well get this out of the way: I am gay an’ pretty much all the locals know it. If that’s gonna be a problem for you, best we part ways now, no hard feelings.” There was something hesitantly belligerent in Bucky’s stance, like the joke Harry-Rex had made earlier had rubbed him a little raw.

Tony held up his hands in surrender. “Bisexual,” he offered. “So unless you’re going to jump down my throat for not being gold-star gay, we’re good.”

Bucky studied him for a moment, those piercing gray-blue eyes seeming to see right through him. “A’ight, then. I don’t fuck customers and I don’t fuck employees. Those’re rules I don’t break -- learned ‘em the hard way. So long as we’re clear, hop in and I’ll show you what passes for home for this neck of the woods.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had several questions about this, so: Harry-Rex's banjo comment is a reference to the movie "The Deliverance", and is a pop-culture shorthand for male rape. Despite that connotation, he doesn't mean it maliciously -- to his own mind, he's just giving Tony a heads-up that Bucky is gay and might make a (he assumes) unwanted pass.
> 
> Harry-Rex is a particular breed of older southern guy who, if asked outright would swear he's _fine _with gay people (he has gay friends!), but is still carrying around a big load of socially-programmed homophobia, which translates, in part, to making jokes in extremely poor taste. Being queer in the US South (and lots of other places as well) is a constant compromise of letting this sort of thing slide. Bucky's reaction is a little intense, but as we'll see later, he's got good reason to be a bit twitchy about this sort of "joke".__


	3. Chapter 3

Tony didn’t seem to be one for small talk, and Bucky gave up trying to draw him out fairly quickly, instead just settling for what his Ma had called “rattlin’ on.” Giving Tony a feel for the area, pointing out the spots of interest. Not that there were many; Sandbridge was a tiny town that might as well have been a suburb of Virginia Beach, all of four miles of narrow beach reaching between the Atlantic Ocean and Currituck Sound. A few apartment buildings and some single family homes housed the tiny population. There were no hotels, which dissuaded the majority of the tourists, but people in the know rented out the ocean-front cabins and houses. Sandbridge was… secret. Good beach, good food, but off the beaten path.

Whenever Bucky pulled into the lot at Dockside, he had a sense of coming home, of welcome. For a moment, looking at the man sitting in the cab with him, Bucky tried to see the restaurant like a stranger might.

Built in the late 70’s, the porch was wide, the windows large and plentiful to catch the ocean breeze. The wrap-around porch was littered with four-top patio tables and a bar. A series of barstools faced the ocean and a hook-toss game was set up at the far end. The sign was old and battered -- it had been hand-painted by his dad back in the day, and Steve had touched it up a few times, but no amount of fresh paint could disguise its weatherbeaten state. The roof was tin and could use repainting; the pale blue weather-proofing was rusting through in patches.

Bucky caught up the bag from Harry-Rex’s and the paint and was pleased when Tony picked up the big jug of insecticide without being asked. Bucky led the way around the garage and up the front porch steps rather than go in through the kitchen, so that Tony could get a quick tour.

The outdoor furniture was all a little ratty, but comfortable and well-sanded. Indoors, they’d laid the seating out in a series of antiqued picnic tables and benches, painted brilliant colors and then artificially weathered. An old racing kayak hung from the rafters, and the decor was beach-themed: stuffed fish and local art and old-fashioned advertisements, except for the stretch of wall that was covered in framed photos, some of which were older than Bucky himself, of the staff and regular customers. Bucky had always thought the place was homey -- a little beaten but still standing, full of warmth and love. But maybe to a city slicker, it would just be another rundown hole-in-the-wall diner.

It was late afternoon; a few early-dinner/late lunch clients lingered over their meals, but the floor was mostly free. “Stevie!” Bucky bellowed as he came through the door, setting the paint aside.

Bucky and Steve had grown up together, so Bucky mostly still remembered the skinny kid Steve used to be, but he was used to people having a _reaction_ when they met Steve the first time, so he took a step to the side to watch. Steve drew the eye; handsome, blond, and tall. Bucky had no illusions about his own looks, which were on the prettier side of good, but whenever Steve was in the room, Bucky might as well be invisible.

Steve was huge, easily six-two and probably weighing in at two-twenty, all pure beefcake muscle. He wore thin white t-shirts at least two sizes too small that showed off ludicrous pecs and abs, and rolled the sleeves to display his arms. He had a face like a Greek god, all strong chin and firm nose and beautiful, patrician mouth.

Tony went still, his eyes going round -- which was pretty typical -- but then he leaned away, just slightly, and his eyes flickered around the room like he was checking the exits -- which usually only happened on the rare occasions when Steve was angry. Bucky wondered if that fresh shiner on Tony’s face was covering up an older one, and growled inwardly. Tony stood his ground, though, caught a breath and huffed it out hard before standing straighter and squaring his shoulders. “Christ, you’re a big guy,” he said as Steve came closer.

“Steve, this is Tony. Tony, Steve. Head cook and _not_ the bottlewasher at his very loud insistence. Stevie, can you get Tony a -- burger and fries okay with you? -- while I show him the apartment?”

Steve offered Tony a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. He raised an eyebrow at Bucky, jaw twisting a little bit.

Nat bounced onto the floor, tray on her shoulder. “Hi, Tony,” she chirped on her way past, putting a little extra wiggle in her walk as she got closer to her marks, a couple of college-aged kids. Her accent -- completely fake, which always threw people when they got to know her better -- got thicker, a Georgia-peach drawl. Christ, she could bottle that up and sell it as jam. The kids laughed at whatever she said; Nat always drew great tips.

“That’s Natalia,” Bucky said, pointing. “She’s our waitress, except on Tuesday and Saturday, when it’s Sharon and Wanda. And Sam’s on temporary for washing dishes. I’ll let him work out the day, if that’s okay with you, and you can start tomorrow?”

“Sure thing,” Tony said. He eyed Nat -- not surprising, ‘most everyone did -- but he kept glancing back toward Steve, nervously. “Any, uh, anything I should know now?”

“Nat’ll show you the ropes as you go,” Bucky said. “Let’s get your stuff settled and come back for food. You look ‘bout fit to eat a horse.”

“Standard burger, cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo, or are you brave enough to try the house special?” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Bucky eyed him. Something about Tony was getting Steve’s back up, which was never a good sign. Might have been the bruise, though -- Steve took a dim view of bullies and the kind of people who started fights for fun.

Oddly, though, Steve’s challenge seemed to bleed out Tony’s nerves. He rocked forward on his toes, meeting it head-on. “What’s the house special?”

Bucky nodded. “Give us both a cheesy all the way and a bowl, same, okay? We’ll break you in the hard way.”

Tony cocked his head, studied Steve and then Bucky, then grinned. “I’m pretty hard to break,” he said.

Nat came up behind them and Bucky barely restrained himself from jumping out of his skin. How the hell did she do that? “ _You collecting stray puppies again, boss?_ ” The Russian dropped from her mouth in liquid syllables. She’d attempted to teach all of them after she’d started working there, but Bucky was the only one who’d taken to it. “ _He looks like he’s running._ ”

“ _Running from_ what _, that’s the question,_ ” Bucky answered her.

Steve sighed. Languages weren’t his skill and he’d never learned more than a handful of words in Russian, even though he and Nat had been dating for some four years now. “Two cheesies all the way, comin’ up.”

Bucky turned to Tony. “Apartment’s out back,” he said. “This way.” He led Tony through the kitchen -- paused briefly to introduce Sam, just finishing up the stack left from the lunch rush -- out the back door, and up the exterior stairs. Bucky lived on the second story of Dockside, which had four bedrooms and a living room/kitchen combo. When Bucky had been a teenager, Dad had installed a separate studio apartment over the garage; it and the house were both accessed from the second-floor balcony. Another set of stairs led from the balcony to the widow’s walk that ringed the studio apartment’s roof. Nat liked to sit up there and watch the ocean on her breaks.

The apartment wasn’t big. It had a bed in the far corner (complete with Clint’s horrible purple sheets and comforter); a burner, a microwave, and a mini fridge for a kitchen; and a couch and a tiny television near the door. The bathroom, barely big enough to turn around in, contained a stall shower, toilet, and tiny sink. Lucky, who had been sleeping on the sofa, lifted his head and thumped his tail a few times as Bucky opened the door.

Clint had left the place a wreck, but Bucky had mostly shoved his stuff out of the way and bagged it up. “I’ll get Clint’s crap into storage if you decide to stay,” Bucky offered. “The sheets are clean, I changed ‘em out this morning. Clint left his sheets and towels and stuff, you’re welcome to use ‘em. Basic cable and WiFi, all utilities are provided. The washer and dryer are downstairs -- I’ll show you later. And there’s a six-pack of Michelob in the fridge. It’s Clint’s, but I think you can have it, if you want.”

Tony explored the apartment cautiously. His expression was guarded, and it couldn’t be more obvious that he was used to something bigger and nicer, but he didn’t say it. He stepped over to the sofa and held out a hand for Lucky to sniff and then lick. He smiled a little at that and petted Lucky’s head. “Never had a dog,” he admitted, not looking at Bucky. “Will he let me know when he needs to go out?”

At the word “out,” Lucky got up, fetched a brilliant purple leash from the door-side table and brought it back to Tony, wagging hopefully. “He’s pretty well trained,” Bucky said, grinning. “Clint… Clint was in the circus before he came to work here. Lucky got hurt in a stage accident and Clint brought him with to keep the trainer from putting him down.”

Tony was grinning at the dog, a bright, uncomplicated amusement that made his whole face light up. “Well, good for Clint, I guess,” he said. He took the leash and tugged at Lucky’s equally lurid purple collar until he found the ring to clip it to. “Guess we’re going for a walk, huh?”

God, this was a mistake. Bucky smiled, but damn, Tony was really fucking gorgeous, and there was something childlike about that grin that just went right through Bucky’s chest. He’d stated his rules, and they were written in stone. Had been for years. This was not the time to start having second thoughts. _Fuck, lock it down, Barnes_. Nat was right, he did pick up stray puppies.

She was also right in that Tony had the air of someone who was in trouble. Running. But weren’t all his friends? Steve had been running from the pain of his mother’s death and all it meant, Nat from her war-torn country, Clint from the circus, Sam from the war. Everyone ran, and they all came to Bucky in the end. He didn’t need another one. But he’d never been able to turn anyone in need away, and Tony’s body language screamed _need_.

Lucky all but dragged Tony to the door, because he was well-trained but knew a sucker when he saw one. Tony laughed the whole way, obviously delighted.

“Okay, just-- Hold up a second, would you? Geez.” Tony grinned at Bucky. “This is great,” he said. “Really. I’ll just take Lucky out for a bit and then I’ll come help you hang that door, okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Lunch first,” he said. “I don’t have what you’d call good employee health coverage, and you don’t need to faint on top of that shiner.”

***

A cheesy-all-the-way turned out to be a cheeseburger topped with a fried egg and served with onions and mustard relish on an extremely soft bun. There was also a bowl of some sort of bean soup. Bucky assured him was “chili”, but it had no meat that Tony could see. It also had a square of cheese folded into the bottom of the bowl, and more of the onions and relish on top. Both it and the burger oozed grease like a leaky engine.

Tony hadn’t eaten for at least twenty-four hours, and he had mustered up the bravado to claim to be hard to break, but he really wasn’t sure this was... edible.

Bucky grinned at Tony knowingly and then bit into his own burger with gusto.

Well, as long as an ambulance was going to have to come out for one person, Tony might as well share the ride. He took a somewhat more delicate bite, hyper-aware of the way the cook -- Steve -- was watching, those tree-trunk arms folded across that massive chest. Tony was trying not to think about the way he’d almost bolted when Steve had come out of the kitchen looking like Ty’s bigger, bodybuilder brother, jaw ticking with immediate dislike of Tony. At least Steve hadn’t _talked_ like Ty, all smooth charm and honeyed poison.

Then the taste of the burger hit Tony’s mouth and he forgot about Steve entirely. “Jesus _fuck_ ,” he swore when he’d managed to swallow that bite. He took another bite. It shouldn’t have been good. It really, really shouldn’t. But the bread soaked up the grease and the onion and mustard added the perfect bite to the egg and the rich taste of the burger chased it all down. “Where has this been all my life?” His stomach loudly demanded more, reminded suddenly of how long it had been since his last meal.

“South of the Mason-Dixon,” Steve answered, easily enough, giving Tony a less stern sort of smile. Steve slid a glass across the bar’s surface to Bucky, filled with something similar to milk, except sort of… yellow? “What do you want to drink, Tony?” Steve inquired.

Bucky took a long swig of his drink and wiped a milk-moustache off his mouth with the back of one hand. “This,” he said, indicating his glass, “you do not want. I don’t know anybody who didn’t grow up on buttermilk who can actually drink it.”

Tony blinked. “I thought buttermilk was just for, y’know. Pancakes and biscuits.”

“And pie,” Nat piped up. “My Stevie makes a wonderful buttermilk pie.”

“I’ll... have to try that sometime,” Tony said diplomatically, though he couldn’t imagine what the hell milk had to do with pie. “Just a Coke,” he answered Steve. “I’m not picky.”

Steve cracked open an actual glass bottle of Coke, using his thumb to pop the cap.

Tony took it from him with a careful smile of thanks. Maybe Steve would warm up to him eventually, or at least turn out to be less of an asshole than Ty. And he was -- dating? Married to? -- Natalia, and they’d leave the building at night, when Tony was asleep and vulnerable.

The Coke tasted better than any soda had a right to; Tony guessed he was still a little dehydrated. And the sweet carbonation matched well with the greasebomb of the burger. Both were disappearing fast.

Sam ducked out of the kitchen wearing a broad, light-up-the-room sort of smile. “Hey, Bucky, babydoll, sweetheart --”

“Sam, what do you want?”

“Lemme borrow your truck? I need to pick up Jody from little league and mine’s in the shop. Hope they can fix it, I do not need another car payment.”

“Yep,” Bucky said, tossing him the keys easily. “Say hi to your sister.” He brushed crumbs off his tee and stood up. “Let’s get that door back on before it rains again, yeah? Finish the dishes before you go, Falcon!” he yelled after Sam.

Tony hurriedly gulped down the last spoonful of... it _wasn’t_ chili like any Tony had ever had, but it was good anyway, and followed Bucky. “Falcon?” he asked once he’d finished swallowing.

“Call sign. Our Sam was in the Air Force. Came home after his wingman got shot down. He’s had a tough time of it, but he’s coming out the other side of the clouds now, I think.” He led Tony around the side of the building where he’d nailed a few pieces of plywood across the opening. Near the door lay an assortment of tools, including a crowbar, and Bucky pried off the covering with easy familiarity. “We get a lot of storms out this way; hurricanes every year or so. Plywood’s the second largest business around here, aside from tourists. Pry them nails out and we’ll put the boards back in storage when we’re done. Make sure not to leave nails in the sand. Lotsa people around here walk around in flip-flops, or bare feet. There should be a coffee can around here you can put them in.” He gestured to a claw hammer in the tool pile.

Working with his hands was soothing. Carpentry wasn’t Tony’s primary skill, but he'd done some, and it was still putting pieces together so they worked right, or better than they had before. It was soothing to drop into that mindset, a simpler thought process that didn’t have to worry about whether someone was going to get mad at him, or what the emotional fallout was going to be. It was numbers and shapes and angles, the clean ache of muscles put to work.

The door was old, blue like the roof and had a hand-painted centerboard with a flower wreath around cursive letters. _BARNES FAMILY._ “My ma made this door,” Bucky said, touching the flowers with fond fingers, “and Dad painted it. They built this place up from nothing, themselves. People keep tellin’ me I should modernize, but it… just wouldn’t seem right.” He visibly shook off the momentary nostalgia. “The door pulled right off the hinges, so I think a little wood glue on the doorframe should give it some more support.” He scowled a little. “Someone left the door open during the rain -- probably Clint -- otherwise it shouldn’t have happened.”

Longer screws would do the job just as well, but Bucky’s toolkit didn’t seem to have any random spares floating around in it. Tony spread some glue under the new hinges and reached for the screwdriver to fasten them on. “My dad’s business is nothing but modern,” he said, watching the way the screws twisted into the wood, checking for buckling and warping. “He wanted me to take it over, but that would’ve meant dealing with him for another twenty, thirty years. Maybe old-fashioned is better.” He wiped a bit of excess glue off from the edge of the hinge with his thumb, and didn’t let himself wonder why he was talking about his dad, of all people, to a man he’d only known for a few hours.

This talking thing was apparently contagious.

“I’d give my left arm to have my folks around,” Bucky said, thoughtfully. “Lost Ma to cancer five years ago. Dad passed last year. Stroke. They were my rock. But I understand that not everyone's that lucky.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “Sorry.” He focused on the hinges. They were simpler than people. They held, or they didn’t; they were quiet, or they needed oil. This door didn’t even need measuring; there were dents where the old hinges had been, in both the door and the frame. Tony measured anyway, because it was always best to be certain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy Westerns are a thing; fried egg, hamburger, cheese. “All the way” means with mustard relish and onions. Bowl = bowl of chili, which in the southern states is primarily a bean dish with sauce. Sometimes meat, sometimes not. These two dishes, including the lingo, come directly from a tiny eatery in Lynchburg, Virginia called the Texas Tea Room. There exists a rumor that, before the Health Department stopped them from serving it, drunk college students would order ice cream all the way and challenge each other to eat it. The Tea Room is hole in the wall, greasy spoon eating at its absolute best, and the staff are a hoot. If you find yourself out that way, consider stopping by. It’s worth it!
> 
> Also, drinking buttermilk (which tisfan likes and dragons does not) and buttermilk pie (which we both agree is delicious).


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky was closing out the day’s cash when Steve came in, big hands clenching a dishtowel the way he did whenever he was upset.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Buck,” he said. “You don’t know this guy.”

Bucky heaved a sigh. He didn’t want to do this right now. He had a headache, he had books to do (part of the reason he had a headache) and his feet were killing him. A large group had come in just before eight, forcing him to push Sam into a waiter’s apron and fetch Tony down from his apartment and put him to work despite the man being dead on his feet. Forty out-of-towners claiming “we couldn’t get a reservation” and Bucky was gonna have to make a special run tomorrow to get more beer, because they'd tapped out two kegs and the truck wasn’t due in until Friday.

Nat had been giggling like a lunatic as she waved goodbye to the party; the patriarch of the family had left over twenty percent on nearly seven hundred dollars’ worth of food and beer, so she was pleased.

“He seems harmless enough,” Bucky said. “He did okay tonight.”

“You trust too easy,” Steve said. “I think Nat and I should stay.”

“No, Rogers,” Bucky said, straightening and listening to his back pop unpleasantly. “You snore. It’s a wonder Nat hasn’t throttled you in your sleep. Now go home. I have to finish this up and tomorrow’s gonna be busy. I promise I’ll call you if Tony turns out to be the Boston Strangler.”

“Call Sam,” Steve said, still taking it too seriously. “He’s closer.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bucky burst out. “He’s staying in the apartment, not my house. I did manage to get to being a fully functional adult without your oversight, Stevie. Go home.”

Steve scowled impressively, but Bucky just rolled his eyes and made shooing gestures. Steve was not all talk, not even close, and it wasn’t like Bucky had never made some terrible choices before. But Bucky’d saved his life a few times, back when Steve was small and scrawny and still opening his mouth and shit-talking, so… Steve stalked away and Bucky stared back at the books.

The red numbers didn’t get much less red; although they’d had a good night, it would take months of good nights to get back in the black. Hopefully tourist season would see them through another year. It was always slow in the winter, but winter was over and school would be letting out soon. Things would pick up.

Bucky rubbed at his eyes, jotted another entry into his log. At least he hadn’t had to pay a carpenter to fix the door. That reminded him, and he flicked out a twenty and four fives, then locked the rest of the cash up in the safe.

He shut up his office and went looking for Tony.

Tony was sitting on the porch steps, the purple leash across his knees as he watched Lucky chasing the waves. He flinched as Bucky came out of the door, then relaxed with a sigh. “All done?”

Bucky double-counted the cash and handed Tony forty dollars. “All done. Sorry you didn’t get more time to settle in. Weekdays usually aren’t that busy, but it’s good, it’s all good.” He stared out at the blackness over the water, listening to the waves roll in. Soothing. Safe. _Home_. “Can I ask a question?”

“Ask anything you want,” Tony said, but his guarded tone meant _and then I’ll decide whether to answer_.

“You weren’t in any barfight,” Bucky said. He reached for his smokes, drew one out slow and tapped it against the pack. “And it’s none of my business _what_ , but… is what you’re runnin’ from gonna bring hurt to me an’ mine?” He flicked his lighter and drew hot smoke into his chest, held it for a moment, then let out a smoke ring, watched it shimmer in the evening air and dissipate.

Tony seemed to give it some consideration, stone-faced. A couple of times, he drew a slightly deeper breath, as if planning to speak, but then let it go unvoiced. Finally, he shook his head. “Shouldn’t be able to find me,” he said, low. “I’ll run again, if I have to.” His eyes were fixed on the waves, or something far beyond them. “It’s not the law,” he said after another moment. “You won’t be in any trouble for harboring a fugitive or anything.”

“Hell, it ain’t like none of us never been _arrested_ before,” Bucky quipped, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “I don’t mind weatherin’ down a storm. Just like to know if one’s coming.” He took another drag; his ma was probably frowning down at him from Heaven; she never did like that he smoked, but one at bedtime and one before he started his day was just a habit he couldn’t give up. It settled him. “You’re gonna have wet dog and sea salt smell in your room, unless we rinse him off. Then you’ll just have wet dog.” He whistled for Lucky. “Shake.”

Lucky floofed himself out enormously, the whole body whirling this way and that, spraying ocean water everywhere and leaving the golden dog’s fur sticking up every which way like he’d been spin-dried. “Yeah, who’s a good boy?” He snuzzled the dog for a minute. “C’mon, hose is this way.”

***

Lucky seemed to be happy to wait patiently at the door to the apartment while Tony dug up some towels. Clint had left a huge stack, which probably made sense for a guy living at the beach with a dog that liked to swim. He put them down on the sofa -- obviously the dog’s favorite spot -- and then pointed, and Lucky bounded over and up, tail wagging happily and spattering water everywhere.

Tony locked the door and pulled the chain -- though it wouldn’t keep out a fifth-grader, much less a determined intruder -- and stripped down to his boxers. He threw his jeans over the back of a chair to air, since he’d been wearing them for two days straight and would be wearing them again tomorrow.

The little apartment was ridiculously quiet, the rush of surf no competition for the constant noise of traffic and trains and people that Tony was used to, and it was far too dark -- the nearest streetlamp was at least a block away. The sheets were clean, as advertised, but the bed was unfamiliar, every uneven dip or lump like a rock in Tony’s back. He had new appreciation for the princess and her pea, the way even minor irregularities seemed massive.

He didn’t really expect to sleep. Everything was a little unreal -- this place, these people. He missed the apartment in New York. It hadn’t been big, but he and Ty had put a lot of effort into making it nice. It was one of the things Tony had liked about Ty, actually -- that their tastes had been so similar, that they both took pride in their living space. The bed had been the biggest one they’d been able to fit into their tiny bedroom, the mattress the nicest they’d been able to afford, soft and warm. Tony missed that bed.

He shouldn’t miss Ty. He _knew_ he shouldn’t. But it was too dark and too quiet -- which only made the unfamiliar noises seem louder -- and he was in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers with unknown motivations, and it was hard to forget that it was ten _miles_ to the nearest bus stop. Tony felt like a changeling in a fairytale, like he’d come into a strange world, not entirely human, an unwanted replacement for the one who actually belonged here.

He couldn’t go back. Shouldn’t even think of it.

But lying there in the too-dark, too-quiet, too-strange room, an ache of longing closed Tony’s throat and choked the breath from his lungs, and he desperately wanted nothing more than to feel Ty’s arm around his shoulders, his waist, pulling him into familiar warmth.

A harsh sob tore its way through Tony’s throat, and another. He threw his arm over his face, welcoming the distraction of pain when it pressed on the bruise, though it wasn’t enough to actually stop the tears or the way each breath seemed ripped out of him, ragged and thin. He covered his mouth with his hand, not wanting to be overheard, and resenting having to worry about it.

A soft clink was all the warning Tony had before the bed dipped and bounced and Lucky squirmed up under his arm, licking at his face.

“Oh, god, get-- get off,” Tony coughed, pushing until the dog had backed away a little. Lucky didn’t get down off the bed, though; he laid against Tony’s side and nudged at Tony’s arm with a soft, plaintive whine.

“You’re spoiled,” Tony said, and Lucky didn’t seem to care that his voice was hoarse. “Spoiled rotten.” He draped his arm over Lucky’s back, petting drowsily, and let the dog’s warmth lull him into sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Tony woke with a start and froze, not sure where he was or how he’d gotten there.

Memory came rushing back an instant later along with the sound of the surf, and he went limp with relief. Lucky, who had moved back to the couch at some point during the night, looked up and thumped his tail a few times, hopefully.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes -- _fuck_ but his black eye hurt even more today than it had yesterday -- and reached for his jeans.

By the time Tony had managed to get vertical and was rummaging in his backpack for a clean shirt, Lucky was standing by the door, whining.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tony sighed. He clipped on the leash and unlocked the door, letting Lucky all but pull him down the stairs to the beach. “Don’t you dare poop, I don’t know where the scoop is yet.” He’d made do the previous evening with a discarded cup from a 7-11 that he’d found in the sand, but he couldn’t count on convenient Big Gulp litter every time.

Lucky tugged him around the side of the house toward the front of the restaurant, sniffing intently at every tuft of grass and twig. Tony wondered idly how the dog decided which of them were deserving of pee.

Movement drew his attention upward and… Jesus _Christ_. That was a sight worth waking up for, Bucky leaning against the balcony rail just outside his door, wearing a sinfully tight pair of jeans and not much else. He had a cigarette held loosely in his fingers and his shoulders relaxed and easy, hair being toyed with by the morning breeze, like the love interest in a romcom. Lucky bounded up the stairs, tail whipping into a blur and Tony stumbling after.

Bucky smiled as they reached the top, and how was it fair that the man’s eyes were literally the same stormcloud blue as the ocean not a hundred feet away? Tony had to catch his breath before he could manage a credible “Morning.”

Bucky scratched at his chin, morning stubble shading his face. “Hey, Tony.” He gestured to the wide railing where there were two mugs balanced, one red and the other black. “I thought you might like a cup of coffee?”

“Dear gods, _yes_ ,” Tony groaned. He followed the siren call of coffee the last few steps. “The last coffee I had was bus station vending machine swill. I’m still not convinced there were more than three beans involved in its making, and I quite frankly don’t want to know where the water came from.”

Bucky hissed as Tony got closer. “Well, you look like hell cooked over and left out. Had a few black eyes myself; hopefully it’ll feel better in a couple days.” He blew over his mug, then sipped. “It’s black, didn’t know how you liked it. There’s sugar an’ stuff in my place, if that’s your preference.” He jerked his chin toward the larger half of the second floor.

Tony curled his hands around the other mug and let its warmth seep into his bones. “Black is fine,” he sighed. “I won’t say I’ve never indulged in overpriced dessert disguised as a drink, but mostly, yeah, black.” Which was true, so he didn’t have to give voice to how terribly awkward and intrusive it would feel to go into Bucky’s private space. He sipped carefully, mindful of the temperature, then took a slightly bigger gulp when it proved to be cool enough. The noise he made was probably close to obscene, but he didn’t really care. _Coffee_.

Bucky cleared his throat and shifted his weight -- yep, probably shouldn’t have made that noise, but _coffee_ \-- and said, “I’m gonna go into town in a bit, run some errands. Pick you up anything while I’m there? Or you can ride along, if you want?”

Tony considered the forty bucks tucked into his pocket that had more than tripled his net worth. He desperately needed some toiletries, at least. Why the hell hadn’t he remembered to pack his razor and toothbrush? And maybe some more Advil. “That’s probably not a bad idea,” he said. “If you don’t mind the company, anyway.”

“Not at all,” Bucky said. He brushed his hair out of his face, scraping it back into a tidy little bun. He dug an elastic out of his front pocket and secured it. “Should give you a chance to see what the area offers. Look into getting a bike or something, so you’re not dependent on me for transport.”

Tony huffed a bit of a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll think about that. Be a while before I can scrape that kind of money together.” He shrugged, suddenly uneasy. “Don’t let me impose, though. You’re already... I can hitch-hike into town or whatever.”

“Climate change, I get it, Big City,” Bucky said, easily enough. “But that’s not how we do things down here. You have no idea how much help you’re gonna be. But you’ll learn quick enough. You think last night was busy, wait ‘til Saturday. I’ll get my pound of flesh out of you, don’t you fret none.”

It should’ve been a bit worrisome, really, that the rather frantic rush they’d had the previous night was only the tip of the iceberg. But somehow, with Bucky smirking at him over the rim of his mug of coffee, Tony felt... warmed. Like he was needed. Wanted. Appreciated. Could _actually_ do something useful again. He’d had jobs before, but they had always just been about punching a clock. Tony took a breath, and it was clean and crisp, like he hadn’t taken a proper breath in years.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. And then, because Bucky was still smiling at him, he said, “I’m... just going to go check on that door, make sure the glue didn’t drip,” and ducked back down the stairs, Lucky agreeably in tow.

***

It was the same, and yet so, so very different. Standing at the rail, drinking coffee, staring out at the sea. Clint had joined him about half the time, when he wasn’t sleeping off a bender, or just sleeping. Clint could -- and often did -- sleep until noon when allowed. Clint drank his coffee with half a mug of sugar, half a mug of milk, and maybe a splash of coffee. Bucky’s milk purchases would drop considerably if Tony also took it black on the regular.

And, of course, there was the fact that his entire body was so enticingly _aware_ of Tony. He was reminded that it had been a long, long damn time since he’d gotten laid. After Dad passed on -- and to be fair, the year or so before that, because Dad hadn’t coped well with being a widower -- Bucky just hadn’t had time to dedicate to finding a one-night stand, given that he refused to sleep with customers. Especially after-- He slammed that thought away without giving it room in his head.

Which would have been _fine_ , Bucky was used to his life, except Tony drank coffee like he was getting a blowjob, and really, it was entirely unfair to have the memory of that _sound_ lodged firmly in his head. Because it wasn’t going anywhere. Bucky didn’t break the rules, not anymore.

And Tony was about as jumpy as a rabbit. Whatever happened, he’d been ill-used. He didn’t want Bucky sniffing after him anyway.

Bucky grabbed a t-shirt and stepped into his aging red Keds. Quick time check: yes, they’d probably be back before the lunch crowd, and he could shower then. He crossed the walkway between the two buildings, glancing at the sea. If they were back early, maybe he’d have time for a swim. He knocked on Tony’s door.

His phone buzzed.

New Message from Steve: _You dead?_

Bucky sighed, held up his phone and flipped off the camera. He took a picture of his outstretched finger, texting it back just as Tony came out. “Swear to Christ,” he muttered. “At least if you _do_ murder me in my sleep, Steve will stop nagging me.” He tucked his phone away.

Tony’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Wondered if I was imagining the dirty looks,” he said.

“Steve…” He pondered as he headed down the stairs. How to explain Steve in fifty words or less? Like explicating poetry. “Steve’s a little overprotective. He says I trust too easy and makes up for it by starting two strikes down with everyone he meets. We’ve known each other since we were in second grade, so… He’ll come around. You’ll grow on him. Like moss.”

Tony snorted and followed Bucky to the truck. “Or mold.” But when he’d climbed into the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt, his mood was back to pensive. Tony stared out the window, eyes focusing on nothing. “It’s nice,” he said, “to have someone looking out for you.”

“Eh, Steve’s a punk. He forgets I knew him when he was skinny and sickly,” Bucky said. Now those were some fun times, when Bucky was getting called slurs in school. Bucky had tried to ignore it; it was true, he was gay, and there was shit-all he could do about people’s feelings on that matter. But Steve would wade in to defend him, fists flying. _Sticks and stones_ was not Steve’s motto. More like _shut the fuck up_ , and then Bucky would have to drag Steve’s stupid, asthmatic ass out of the holes he’d dug.

Bucky threw the truck into gear and scowled at the air conditioner. The little light was blinking again. He tapped it a few times, but nothing happened. _Fuck_. “Ug. Just what we need. AC’s on the fritz again. And it is too damn hot around here for 4-50 AC.”

“Four... fifty?” Tony was puzzled, blinking slowly.

“Four windows down, fifty miles an hour,” Bucky filled in. Yeah, his sense of humor was regional, too.

Tony laughed. “I like that. Does it really get all that hot here? You’re right on the water, and we’re only, what, like 350 miles from New York?”

“It’s not so bad, on the water, but you’ll want to get beach shoes if you’re walking on the sand, or you’ll burn your feet. In town, however? It’s gonna be over a hundred in August, with a hundred percent humidity. Feels like bein’ slapped in the face with a hot, wet blanket. And it doesn’t let up at night.”

“Well, that sounds unpleasant.” Tony stretched his arms, as much as he could in the truck cab, and Bucky tried not to watch the slide of muscle under his skin. “Would this be a good time to mention that I was a mechanic? I can take a look at it, see if it’s something easy to fix.” He sounded hopeful, even eager.

“Careful who you say that to,” Bucky said, grinning. “We’ll all impose on you for repairs. Th’ only one of us in this group who has a vehicle less than ten years old is Steve, and that’s because he’s a show-off.”

“I wouldn’t think he’d need a vehicle for that,” Tony murmured.

“Yeah, you wait ‘til you see him on that bike,” Bucky warned. Steve had been Bucky’s friend forever, but watching him roll up on two wheels with that growling motor between his thighs... There were days that Bucky would still make a deal with the Devil to tap that. Just once.

Tony chuckled. “Tragically straight, huh?”

“Straight best friend,” Bucky said. “Story of my life. Him and his mail-order bride.”

“I am sensing a story there,” Tony said. “And I wouldn’t mind helping out with the vehicles, honestly. It’s... relaxing. Engines and motors break for a _reason_.”

“Well, I don’t mind if you don’t mind. God knows, Merchant’s charges an arm and a leg for work,” Bucky said. He pulled into the lot near the liquor store. “This center’s got grocery --” he pointed, “and Target, if you need, clothes or something. Drug store. Aaand, frozen yogurt. I need to get a couple kegs to last us ‘til the weekend. And here.” He took the key off his ring. “Stop by the post office and tell Annie you want to pick up the Barnes’ box. She’ll give you the mail.”

Tony took the key on automatic, head swivelling to find the post office. He tucked the key into his pocket. “You _are_ entirely too trusting,” he said.

“You wanna steal a handful of bills and my Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes entry, you have fun with that,” Bucky said, winking.

Tony grinned. “Yeah, okay. I’ll... Target’s probably the best stop, get everything all at once. You need a hand with the kegs first, or you want me to just meet you back here when I’m done?”

Bucky made a dismissive gesture. “They’ll give me a trolley and help me lift ‘em up. I’ll wait for you at the yogurt shop.”

“Frozen yogurt. Before lunch,” Tony said. He shook his head in mock-despair as he walked away. “I’ve fallen in amongst heathens.”

Bucky indulged himself just a little and turned to watch Tony walk away. It was a hell of a view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 6/18 to add the AMAZING art by [ssyn3](https://ssyn3.tumblr.com/)! She also did the art on Chapters 1 and 23, be sure to check them out!!!
> 
> For our non-American readers:  
> \- a "Big Gulp" is a soda cup size found only at 7-11 (which is a convenience store chain) that is literally ludicrously large.  
> \- 100 degrees F is about 38C, with a “heat index” well above 40 thanks to humidity that rarely drops below 90%. It is STICKY awful in summer around these parts.  
> \- Merchant's is an auto-repair chain; dragons used to swear that every time she took her car to them, it would break again three days later, always in a completely unrelated way so she couldn't claim they'd botched the original repair.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucky woke Tony up even earlier the next morning. The sun was barely out, and the dog was scrabbling madly at the door, making a soft woofing noise. At least Tony knew where he was as soon as he opened his eyes.

He whimpered a little as he stood up and his legs protested -- he was no stranger to work, but fixing engines didn’t involve nearly as much time on his feet as bussing and washing dishes did, and his muscles were not pleased. The extra bottle of Advil had been an excellent decision. “What is it, Lucky?”

Lucky whined harder, then barked, and just after that, someone knocked on the door, a light, staccato rapping.

“Huh. Early warning system, huh?” Lucky hadn’t acted like this when Bucky had knocked the previous day. Tony hesitated, but he wouldn’t be able to see through the front window at this angle anyway. He cracked the door without unhooking the chain.

“Morning.” Natalia stood there, holding what appeared to be a repurposed Amazon shipping box. “I know it’s early, but I am taking you to breakfast. My treat. And… I brought you some things.”

Tony blinked at her -- he wasn’t at his best before coffee. Whatever this was, it didn’t sound like an immediate threat. He closed the door long enough to drop the chain, then opened it again so she could come in. “Uh. Sorry about the mess. That pile is, um, Clint’s, I guess? Aaaand I’m standing here in my boxers. Hang on. Pants.” _Smooth, Stark_.

Nat had a nice laugh, soothing and low-pitched. “Pants are optional, unless at work,” she said. “Bras are optional, too, but that is a problem you do not have, I expect.” Her real accent was slavic and a little choppy, and absolutely nothing like the exaggerated Southern drawl she used downstairs.

“Not unless I have a _really_ hot date, anyway,” Tony said, yanking on his jeans.

She put the box down gingerly on the tiny kitchenette table and withdrew a familiar white and green cup. “Coffee. Black. For you. And one chai latte for me. Also for you -- I didn’t know what you like, so I just picked up a few things.” She withdrew from the box a handful of paperback books, probably from the best seller’s rack. Two pairs of sweatpants and three tees that would probably fit, one of which said “Someone in Virginia Beach Loves Me,” and the other two with local college logos on them. She laid a tablet and charger on top of the clothes. “This one is used, but I got a new one. Still works, but I am always spending my money on the latest model. I should upgrade Steve, while I am thinking of it; he is very old model. First aid kit, in case you hurt yourself. And a succulent, because every home needs a plant.”

Tony stared at the pile of... things, a bit flabbergasted. “I don’t... Why?” Why would she just bring him this stuff? The little plant, maybe, sure -- a sort of “welcome aboard” gesture. But clothes? Books? A _tablet_ , for fucksake, even an older one?

Nat gave him a sad little smile. “That is a bit of a story to tell,” she said, handing him one of the tees. “Here, put this on and give me your face for a moment. Then breakfast, and I’ll explain.” She pulled a tube of concealer and a compact from her pocket.

Tony pulled on the tee -- one of the college ones, a bit of a cheat, considering he’d dropped out of school to move in with Ty -- and turned his face obediently toward her, still stunned and confused.

She screwed the bottom of the tube and dabbed it on his bruise, carefully. It didn’t really hurt much anymore, which was good. “This will keep people from asking stupid, nosy questions. Unless they’re kissing-close, no one will see it, now that the swelling’s gone down. And you don’t seem like you should be ready to be kissing anyone.” Nat followed the taupe stick with brushes from her compact, smoothing out the lines with a practiced hand. “Here, you see?” She handed him the tiny mirror.

Tony took it, and while he noticed the powdery surface of the makeup in the compact’s curved mirror, he was pretty sure it was only because he knew it was there. “Thanks,” he said, snapping it shut and handing it back to her. “I appreciate it. The staring was getting old already.”

“Yes, I remember,” she said. “Come on. You like oysters? I know, not a traditional breakfast. Steve hates them, and the raw bar does not serve other food worth eating. So, you come to breakfast with me, and we are all happy.”

Tony spread his hands. “You said you were buying, that makes it your choice,” he said. “I’m not, y’know. Allergic or anything.”

The raw bar was only a few blocks away (or what would have been blocks, if Sandbridge had proper streets) and weirdly enough, the walk helped the pain in his legs settle out. By the time Nat climbed up onto the stool and exchanged greetings with the guy behind the counter, Tony had finished the coffee she’d brought him and was feeling much more awake.

“Two mimosas and a dozen clams, dozen oysters, extra lemon and some of that horse sauce,” Nat ordered, handing the menu back unread.

The guy eyed Tony, opened his mouth and Nat held up a hand. “He is with me. Working at Dockside for the season.”

When he turned away, Nat muttered sidelong to Tony. “Bucky said you have no papers. You _are_ old enough to be drinking alcohol in this country, yes? Stupid law.”

“Do I actually look like I might still be under twenty-one?” Tony asked. “I’m flattered. I'm almost twenty-four.”

“Baby,” Nat scoffed. The guy came back with drinks. “Champagne in the morning. One of the few decent things worth getting up for. _Tvoyo zdorov'ye_.”

“I... am not going to try to pronounce that,” Tony said. “For which you should probably thank me.”

“I believe you Americans say ‘cheers,’” she said, her slavic accent really coming out strongly, and she tipped the drink, swallowing fully half of it before sitting it back on the bar.

Tony took a rather smaller sip of his own, sweet and sparkly against his tongue after the coffee. “You can’t be that much older than me,” he protested mildly.

“I’m twenty-eight,” she said. “Ukrainian, by birth. I came to the United States for school: four years at Rutgers, and then my graduate program here at William & Mary, for oceanography. While I was here, the Russians invaded my country, killed my family, destroyed my home. I have nothing left to go back to and everyone I ever knew is dead or in prison.” She picked up the glass and drained it, then tapped it. The guy behind the bar brought her a second one without hesitation.

Tony felt like a complete asshole. “I... I don’t even know what to say to that. That’s... I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were focused somewhere not in the little bar, one finger running lightly around the rim of her glass. “When I got the news, I was sitting in a McDonald’s with Steve. We were watching the television and it was on CNN. I felt. Lost. I had… nothing. Except Steve. And then Bucky.” Her mouth twitched, a little, and she looked at Tony. “You… remind me of me. You look _lost_. And you’ve given up everything. Whatever happened to you, Antonishka, it is no place of mine to ask, but I will listen if you want to talk about it. I wish to be your Steve, in this. Someone to make sure you have a home again, even if that’s not here with us.”

The waiter sat down a tray of raw oysters and clams. Nat picked up a tiny fork and stabbed a clam with it. She squirted lemon on it and added a little dab of horseradish. She went about the process at a stately pace, as if it were a ritual to be given all due gravity. It gave Tony a few moments to compose himself.

It wasn’t nearly long enough, but he appreciated it anyway. He took a breath. And another. “You lost your home,” he whispered. “I’m not sure I ever had one.” He reached for the bottle of hot sauce on the counter and poured it generously onto an oyster before sliding it off the shell and into his mouth. Hot sauce always made his eyes water. “Thank you.”

“Well, you can have one here,” she said. “No place is perfect, but Bucky is in the habit of, as Steve would say, picking up strays. Not everyone stays, but they always come back.”

“Like Clint?” Tony guessed. “Was he lost, too?”

Nat nodded. “Runaway. Joined the circus. The circus was good for him, until it wasn’t. Got in some legal trouble, so he left. He doesn’t settle. He always leaves, but now? He always comes back, too. Steve, too. His mom died when he was a child. Bucky’s parents fostered him, so he wouldn’t have to go in a state home, or to strangers. And Sam, who came back from the war, broken up inside. Bucky takes care of everyone.”

“And you help,” Tony pointed out. He dropped another oyster down his throat. “You seem like... good people. Glad I ran into you, the other day.”

“Steve helps, too. Keeps people from taking advantage. Most of the time. We all do our part. Because that’s what you do.” There was a slight edge there, and her look was very direct as she used the oyster knife to pry open one shell. A warning, maybe. Or maybe he was just getting paranoid.  

“I’m not taking advantage,” Tony felt obliged to say. “At least, I’m not trying to. I just want... I wish things could be simpler.”

“Things are always simple, Antonishka,” Nat said, finishing off her drink. “What they are not is _easy_. But worth it, I think, most of the time.” She chuckled. “You’ll find I philosophize when I drink. It’s in your best interest to keep me away from vodka.”

“Probably yours, too,” Tony said. “In that all I can afford right now is really cheap and terrible vodka.”

Nat picked through the empty shells, in case she’d missed any of the little mussels. “Ah well. Off to work. There is no rest for the sinners, am I right?” She tossed cash on the bar for the bill -- Tony had been right about the cash-rich environment in a tourist town -- and offered Tony her arm.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrible Russian translation: _Tvoyo zdorov'ye_ = your health
> 
> [This](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_military_intervention_in_Ukraine_\(2014%E2%80%93present\)) is the event that Natasha was talking about.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Tony had been at the Dockside for a week, he’d settled into something like a routine. He took Lucky for a walk down the beach first thing in the morning, then came back to share a cup of coffee with Bucky on the deck. After that, he’d help out around the place -- Bucky really hadn’t been kidding about not being much of a handyman -- or work on Bucky’s or Sam’s trucks, which were old but in pretty decent shape considering all the salt in the air, give or take a few parts. Some days, they drove into town to run errands before the restaurant opened.

Working at the restaurant was tiring, but not difficult. Busboys were unremarkable, part of the background, which Tony liked. Being invisible was reassuring, like floating in a pool and letting the water muffle all the sound. Bucky and Natalia were kind, and Steve’s suspicion seemed to be slowly fading. He met the part-time waitstaff, Sharon and Wanda, and they seemed nice enough.

Harry-Rex and his wife, June, had stopped by; Bucky’d gotten catfish and fried it up, and they’d all sat in the back to eat. Miss June, as she insisted on being called, despite being over fifty and married, had brought Tony a large tupperware container of food, including something she called strawberry hoe cakes, which were actually a cornmeal sort of pancake. Tony thanked her carefully and exchanged an amused glance with Bucky -- he was living and working in a _restaurant_ ; food was actually one of the least of his worries.

Not terribly subtle, Harry-Rex had started asking Tony questions. Where had he come from, how long was he planning on staying, did he have a trade? That last one, Tony had figured, took the place of “where did you go to college.” And then things had gotten even more personal and invasive: who were Tony’s people, why had he come south, did he have a girl back home?

Tony fumbled through explanations that were half evasion with bits of the truth mingled in, because outright lying was bound to trip him up eventually. But both Bucky and Nat seemed to recognize his discomfort, and they cleverly diverted Harry-Rex’s attention, giving Harry-Rex the spotlight. “Oh, you should tell Tony about that Pennsylvania fella, that time, remember?”

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Nat had said about making a home here. Ty hadn’t exactly been unwelcoming, not at first, and Tony wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell what a real family was like. He didn’t exactly have experience with that. And sooner or later, they were going to find out who Tony was and what he’d left behind, and he wasn’t sure he could face their reactions. Disgust that he’d essentially sold himself to Ty to get away from his father; disdain that he hadn’t figured out sooner what an ass Ty was; pity for the abuse... Each possibility made Tony’s stomach churn.

But god, it was tempting to drop his guard, let himself trust these people. He’d never known anyone so _good_ , so caring. It wasn’t the sort of saccharine "caring while probing for gossip fodder" that Harry-Rex and his wife had displayed. In fact, Bucky and Steve and Nat were downright _mean_ to each other when they weren’t in front of the customers, trading pointed insults that were somehow rarely belittling and despite the snide tones, full of affection and love. They were all very handsy, quick with hugs or pokes or to mess up each other’s hair, and as Tony got a little more comfortable with them, they included him in both the banter and the casual contact.

Two days after Tony had finished fixing Sam’s transmission, Sam turned up at the Dockside during the lunch prep with tickets in his hand. “You wouldn’t let me pay you,” Sam said, “but you can at least go have some fun. G’wan, I’ll cover your shift for the afternoon.”

Nat, helping Steve slice tomatoes, peered over Tony’s shoulder at the tickets. “Ooh, fun!” she said. “You should take Bucky with you, he’s great at a game.”

Steve looked mildly offended. “ _I’m_ great at a game,” he said. “Bucky’s just obnoxious.”

Nat stretched up on her toes to kiss Steve’s cheek. “I know, but you are too intense for a first-timer,” she teased.

“I’ve been to baseball games before,” Tony said.

“Not like this, you haven’t,” Sam promised. He leaned toward Bucky's office door. “Bucky! You need to go have some fun, man.”

Faintly, from Bucky’s office, came the response, “I don’t do that anymore.”

Nat leaned around Sam. “Tony has not been to a Tides game yet! You will take him.”

“So you want me to torture the poor guy?” Bucky appeared in the office doorway, hair sticking up in all directions as if he’d been shoving it back repeatedly. “The Tides are terrible. Like, horrible, _horrible_ baseball. Sam’s nephew’s T-ball team plays better.” He brightened a bit. “Is it dollar-dog this week? That’s always worth it.”

“So next time I owe you, I’ll bring you tickets to one of Jody’s games. Tides is what I got right now,” Sam said. “Man up and go watch some bad baseball, yell insults at the third baseman, and eat hot dogs that are guaranteed to give you heartburn.”

“I’m not sure manning up is required,” Bucky said, mildly. He flicked a glance at Tony. “If you want, I mean, I don’t… Nat’s pretty good at a game, too. Babushka power!” Which made Nat grin and Steve flick a tomato stem in Bucky’s direction.

“Stop trying to give away my girl,” Steve said. “I paid good money for her.”

“What good money is this, I am never seeing this _good money_ ,” Nat complained, thickening her accent until it was more like something from a bad spy movie, her eyes twinkling. “Seriously, you’ve been working too hard,” she told Bucky. “Go. We can survive the lunch rush without you for a change.”

“They’re your tickets, Tony,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know I’ve only been here for a week,” Tony said, “but I already know better than to argue with Nat.” He grinned. “Besides, baseball isn’t any fun by yourself. Let’s do it.”

Bucky held his hand out to Nat. “Gimme your Tide card. I hate parking at Harbor Park. We’ll take the light rail in.”

Nat dug out a blue and white plastic metropass. She said something in Russian (or was it Ukranian? Tony couldn’t tell the difference) and Bucky answered her in the same language, then shoved at her shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll have to scoot, the game starts at one. Not that it’ll be tragedy if we miss the first inning.”

Tony grinned and handed his apron off to Sam. “Have fun. There’s a pack of old ladies who’ve been coming in for lunch the last three days and they try to grab my ass every single time I walk by. They’re gonna love you.”

Bucky’s truck was a lot more comfortable now that the air conditioning was working again. He pushed a CD into the player. Bucky’s musical tastes seemed to be a combination of loud, awful country, and rap, but he did have a nice singing voice. Even if he was singing, oh, my god, was that _Hall and Oates_? Jesus. Tony stared out the window, trying not to laugh.

“And I can see you try-yi-yi-ing not to laugh,” Bucky sang, grinning, “but fuck youuuuuu this song is great.”

Tony gave up and cackled. “What the hell is wrong with you people and music down here?” he demanded.

“I don’t have anyone I need to impress,” Bucky said. “I like what I like. Eighties music makes me happy. Who’re we playin’ today? Or, more precisely, which terrible team is going to kick our even worse asses?”

“Louisville… Bats? Is that a real team? How can that be a real team?” Tony sounded offended on the team’s behalf.

Bucky grinned. “Hey, Richmond’s team is the Flying Squirrels. Minor league ball. It’s… a thing. Not necessarily a good thing, but a thing.”

“And yet, you agreed to go with me,” Tony pointed out.

“Eh, it’s fun. I used to go to Mudcat games with Stevie, when we were kids. Crawl under the bleachers and steal popcorn when the ushers weren’t lookin’. Course, we got thrown out more often than we got to see a complete game, too. Steve never can keep his mouth shut when he sees a bad call.”

“Color me not-surprised.” Steve did have a tendency to rant and rave about things. Tony eyed the tickets. “Is this the baseball bats, or the flying kind, I wonder.”

“Flying kind.” Bucky pulled into a commuter lot. The light rail for Virginia Beach’s sister-city was not what Tony would really consider public transportation: a single train line that ran from one side of Norfolk to the other. (More or less, anyway; Tony still couldn’t figure out how to tell when they’d crossed from one city to the other.) The platform was white and sparkling clean, and there was a weird modern-art sculpture in the grass lot around the platform. The only familiar thing about it was that the few people who used it stared at their phones while they were waiting.

***

The Tides turned out to be just as terrible as Bucky had claimed. Maybe worse. Tony didn’t even really like baseball, but he was pretty sure _he_ could do better. And yet, somehow, it was still fun.

“I didn’t know you could _get_ that many errors in a single inning,” Tony said, licking hot dog grease and suspicious “cheese” sauce off his fingers. “Seriously, is this staged? Like, you know, the Senators at a Globetrotters game?”

Bucky propped his feet up on the empty seat in front of them, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “Nah, they just suck. Last game I was at, we lost twelve to one. It was amazing.” He flagged down a mobile beer vendor. “And by amazing, I mean, holy shit, guys, get your eyes checked. I never seen so many missed catches in my life. On the plus side, there’s absolutely no investment. We already know we’re gonna lose. No need to get anxious about it.”

The next guy struck out beautifully and Bucky surged to his feet to yell a few choice insults, before settling back into his seat and draining a third of his beer in one go.

“This is more fun than I was expecting,” Tony admitted, watching the team hustle (well, more like shuffle; _seriously_ , guys?) toward the outfield. “Thanks for coming along. I know Nat and Sam kind of pushed you into it.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath that might have been “meddling kids” and didn’t quite look at Tony, a tantalizing flush climbing up from under his collar. “Natalia worries about me, sometimes. Running Dockside was easier when my folks were alive. You know, the two of em, kinda sharin’ the load. But Dad… just wasn’t the same, by himself. I see why, but…” He crushed the plastic cup in his hand, the last of the beer spilling down the side of his wrist. “She was right. I needed a bit of time off. Glad you don’t mind me taggin’ along.”

“Nah, you’re fun to hang out with.” He might have added something else, but the Tides’ shortstop actually managed to catch a pop-fly without fumbling it, and they had to stop to cheer.

The game ended on a slightly triumphant note, as the Tides only lost by one run, which Bucky promised was better than they’d done the whole previous season. Bucky dragged Tony to the souvenir shop and bought a hat over Tony’s protests, which he insisted had to be worn twisted around backward. He stopped to tease some of Tony’s hair out through the gap in the front, letting the tuft curl. “There. Now you look like you belong here,” he said. Several beers had gotten Bucky easy-going and relaxed. He would be sober by the time they’d made their way back to the commuter lot where they’d parked the truck, but now, he slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders as they left Harbor Park, headed for the train.

Tony tried not to think too hard about how good that felt. He was affection- _starved_ , soaking up every touch and casual pat like a sponge. After years of having Ty practically surgically implanted at the hip, Tony would have thought he’d have enjoyed a little personal space, but on the other hand, he couldn’t remember the last time touch hadn’t revolved around sex. So it was nice, to bump shoulders and pat arms and lean into someone just because he wanted to. It definitely did not have anything to do with Bucky _specifically_ , who wandered around shirtless in the early mornings and chewed on his lip all the time and had _very strict and professional rules_ against dating customers and employees.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky banged on Tony’s door; the dog woofed from inside, startled. Usually Bucky didn’t bother to wake Tony; Lucky got Tony out of bed well before his shift started. And unlike Clint, Tony had some work ethic that made him get out of bed without constant reminders. But today… Bucky leaned his board against the rail and fidgeted.

The door cracked open a few seconds later, the chain still latched. Just big city caution, or something learned from hard experience? Tony huffed when he saw Bucky and sagged a little. “What is it? Everything okay?”

Bucky grinned, wide. “We’ve got storm surge and high tide,” he crowed. “Come on, come on. You got swim trunks, right?”

Tony blinked at him, that slow, wide-eyed blink that meant he was having to process something a little more than usual. “Uh. Yeah, I think. What’s--” His gaze flicked down, back up. “Okay, swimming, yeah. Give me a minute to change.”

Bucky leaned against the rail; the waves on the east coast were usually mild, three to four feet at the most, but when rain was pushing its way up from the Outer Banks, driving wind with it, they could get up to six or seven footers. With the tide rolling in, it’d be a free-for-all. Only the surf-driven tourists would be out; the clouds offshore fierce and darkly threatening.

Nat pulled up in her little commuter car, the boards absurdly long, strapped to the roof with bungee cords. Steve pried himself out of the tiny car like a clown at the circus. Honestly, Bucky didn’t know how the man stuffed his whole leg into that footwell.

The door opened again to reveal Tony, in dark blue swim trunks, and Lucky on his leash. “We really had to wake up early for--” He stopped, staring at Bucky’s board. “Oh. Surfing. I, um. Never did that before.”

“It’s not too hard -- you can swim, right? The waves are pretty gentle, even with surge. You can ride with Nat, if you want. She’s got enough balance for six normal people,” Bucky said. Oh, God, it was hard not to stare; Tony was compact and fucking _fit._ The muscles in his arms stood out, practically lined in golden morning light.

“I can keep myself from drowning, anyway” Tony said. He looked past Bucky at the dark, frothy surf, and took a breath as if steeling himself. “Okay, sure. Why not. What’s the worst that could happen.” Lucky was already trying to pull him down the stairs toward the beach.

The inlet just beyond the S-turn was the best place for local surfing. A small group of kids was already there, taking turns with two battered boards, one green, one purple. As soon as the Dockside crew hit the beach, the kids turned. “Widow, it’s the Widow,” one of the girls squealed, excited.

Nat’s board was a custom job, jet black with a red hourglass painted on it. She tugged on a pair of neoprene foot covers.

“Go on, babe,” Steve said, admiring her in her tight black tankini. “Show Tony how it’s done.”

Nat was an expert surfer. She didn’t talk about it much, but she’d grown up with it, on the shores of the Black Sea. She _did_ like to talk about the first time she’d gone surfing in the States -- her fellow grad students had been assholes who’d assumed she couldn’t possibly know how and had practically tried to drown her to prove their superiority -- and she’d pretty much showed them all up. She flashed the cheering teens a grin and paddled out with quick strokes.

Bucky came up behind Tony, and oh, God, he almost lost the thread there, because he’d seen Tony’s nicely formed backside in baggy jeans and loose, worn sweat pants, but the way the trunks clung to a perfectly round bubble butt was just… _Nnnngh. Stop it, stop it._ Bucky bit his thumb, hard, using the pain to ground himself, and then took a few more steps forward so he wasn’t tempted to just stand there and gawk like an idiot. Or worse, _touch_ , because his hand itched to run down Tony’s back.

He made himself focus on the water. Nat got herself angled to the wave, pushed up and then she was riding, clean, knees bent, practically dancing along the barrel.

“Huh,” Tony said. “This is going to be one of those things that someone else makes it look easy and it turns out to be incredibly hard, isn’t it?” But he started gamely, if slowly, walking toward the water.

Steve cheered for his girl, whooping and jumping around like an idiot. Lucky danced around in the sand, excited by Steve’s enthusiasm, barking wildly and snapping at the tossed-up sand. Bucky envied the hell out of Steve some days. What Steve and Nat had… Bucky would kill for it. Or, well, maybe maim for it. Someone he didn’t like. Just a little bit.

He caught up with Tony. “Here, ride with me the first time. Nat’ll go on for a while, she’s a wave hog.” He pushed the board out and climbed on. He held out a hand to help Tony climb up and get situated in front of him. “Paddle, that way.” He scooped a great handful of seawater, pushing them out into the surging waves.

Tony wobbled a little as they paddled, getting a feel for the board’s balance, no worse than any other beginner. He didn’t seem particularly nervous, at least.

They moved toward the swell and Bucky leaned forward to talk into Tony’s ear. “You can sit, if you want. Hold onto the sides of the board and I’ll take you through the barrel a few times. Like _Lilo & Stitch._”

If Tony said anything, Bucky didn’t hear it, but Tony’s shoulders shook against Bucky’s chest as he laughed. He nodded, and took hold of the board. He wriggled in place, getting himself seated, and Bucky tried not to think about the way Tony was pressed back against him.

The next good wave that approached, Bucky popped into a squat, hands down on the board. The position had him hovering even closer to Tony’s back and shoulders, close enough that he could watch individual rivulets of sea water dripping down Tony’s back. Fuck. He was not going to be able to surf well if he sprung wood. Not to mention it’d be obvious as all get out, under his swim trunks. Shit shit shi-- And there came the wave, no time to think now.

He straightened, leaned back. Tony was extra weight on the board’s nose, dragging them at a sharper angle than Bucky was used to, but then it was all instinct, keeping the board upright and moving. Bucky flexed his knees and pushed them harder toward the crest and then zipped along the smooth curl. He kept his mouth shut -- it was always tempting to let loose with a warcry, but that was a great way to choke on a mouthful of ocean and seaweed.

It was a lesson that Tony was going to learn fairly shortly if he didn’t stop laughing like a loon, but Bucky couldn’t quite tell him to stop, it was such a warm and happy sound.

[ ](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/post/162829009154/)

He hoped to hell that Tony had a good grip, slid back and pushed his weight until the board spun in a graceful half-circle, riding up through the crest and back the other way, making a zig-zag toward the shore. That was where first timers usually lost it. Going straight was easy. Turning was a bitch. But Tony just leaned with him as if they’d practiced together for years. Bucky punched the air in triumph, sliding down the glassy wave. He got to the end of the second run and that was probably enough for now; other people were waiting their turn. The inlet was too narrow for multiple riders at a time. “Jump off!” He checked his tether, then dove off into the side of the wave, going down until the current no longer battered him.

He touched the sandy ocean floor and shot back up, following the black line of his tether. He threw an arm over his board and got eyes on Tony.

Tony had already surfaced and was treading water, grinning fit to burst. “Okay, that was great,” he said. He glanced back toward the shore, where a lanky teenager was already starting to swim out. “Taking turns?”

Bucky nodded. He spat out a mouthful of water, the salt stinging the inside of his mouth a little. “This is the best spot, but it’s small,” he said, paddling over. “Come on, Star Spangled Asshole’s gonna go after this kid.” He jerked a chin at Steve, whose board was a disgrace, painted like a Fourth of July parade. It was the big board, which meant he and Nat were going to show off. “You don’t want to miss that.”

Steve and Nat, who’d once gone on a wave-chaser vacation and rolled double-overheads, when the curl was twice as high as Steve, could ride tandem like a pro team. Nat liked to say it was winters in the ex-Soviet Union that had taught her how. They got to shore just as Steve was cresting, and with a few slick movements, Nat climbed up his legs and got balanced on his shoulders, riding Steve like a bar-room mechanical bull.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tony breathed, eyes locked on the pair. “You really weren’t kidding about the showing off.”

A skinny black girl with her hair tucked under a swim cap wandered over to them. “Bucky, why you gotta bring them ‘round? Always makes it a let down for the rest of us.” She was grinning though, and punched him in the arm lightly at the end of her complaint.

“Pfft,” Bucky snorted. Ug. His nose was running already; side effect of surfing, and it was damned unattractive. If he stayed out too long, he’d get a bloody nose. “Who do you think rousted me before dawn? Hey, Tony, this is Riri Williams. Her mom runs the candy store down the way, the one with those chocolate-covered coffee beans? Ree, this is Tony, my new employee.”

Tony offered Ree a hand, eyeing her appraisingly. “Student?” he guessed.

“Kemps Landing Magnet School, math and engineering,” she said, proud of herself. And she should be; Riri was brilliant. She shook Tony’s hand and then took a very obvious step to one side, eyeing him up and down. “Heard about you.” Bucky restrained himself from rolling his eyes; of course Tony was gossip fodder. There weren’t that many newcomers to Sandbridge, but the fact that the women in town were all talking about _his ass_ made Bucky a little possessive and defensive and… admittedly, a bit jealous, too.

Tony seemed to take it in stride, though. “Whatever you heard,” he said solemnly, “it’s all true.”

“I’m up,” Riri said, grabbing a board and heading into the waves.

“You want to try standing for a second run?” Bucky gave in to temptation and put an arm around Tony’s shoulders, stippled with water and running gooseflesh as the wind picked up. The storm was gonna be a rager when it came in. They probably ought not stay out too long; Dockside would need to be battened down.

“Sure, I can try,” Tony said, accepting the challenge with a wild grin. “If you don’t mind me toppling us over more or less immediately.”

They watched two more sets go out; Peter was pretty good, but his friend Harry wiped out almost immediately. He got cheerfully razzed as he dragged himself back to shore and flipped off a handful of pre-teen girls, red-faced and furious.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, picking up his board again. This time, Tony paddled vigorously, in time with Bucky’s strokes, and they were on the wave in a few quick movements. Bucky crested, got to his feet and then held out a hand to Tony, keeping his knees loose and toes curled down tight. “I gotcha!” he promised, raising his voice to be heard over the surf.

Bucky put one hand on Tony’s hip to steady him as he got clumsily to his feet. Standing up was tough, the first few times, and Tony was going slow, which actually made it worse. The end of the wave was coming up, and if Tony didn’t hurry, they were gonna get stuffed.

Sure enough, Bucky had to attempt to turn or they were going to run out of wave, but Tony wasn’t set yet and the second Bucky shifted his weight, Tony overbalanced and fell right off the board, his startled “Fuck!” swallowed by the water.

Bucky followed Tony offside as the board flipped under the weight shift. He got a huge gulp of water when the fin smacked him in the shoulder. He rolled with it and tangled the tether by accident. He shimmied, kicking with both legs together to get surfaced. He came up right under the next wave and rolled again before finally getting his bearings. He dragged the board to him by the tether, coughing and spluttering and waiting for a dark head to break the surface.

It took longer than he liked, but he finally spotted Tony, further inland than he’d expected -- without the board’s drag, the wave had carried him along. Well, better toward shore than away. Tony came up flailing and coughing, but had stopped by the time Bucky reached him. “You okay?”

“Mostly,” Tony croaked. “Sorry.”

“It takes practice,” Bucky said, encouragingly. “And sometimes, you still get stuffed.” He hummed the Wipeout theme as they staggered back onto the beach, which earned him a high five from Peter and a very black glare from Harry. Bucky raised an eyebrow and Harry muttered something that sounded vaguely derogatory and stomped off. Peter shrugged and followed his best friend, awkwardly apologetic.

Steve and Nat went again, this time on separate boards, weaving in and out among the waves like dancers. They’d been practicing that for a while and still, toward the second turn, Nat scraped over the tail of Steve’s board and had to take the dive. Steve’s mocking laugh could be heard all the way from shore as he skipped back the other way. Nat popped out of the water and yelled something in Russian that probably sounded vaguely nuclear to the audience, but which Bucky recognized as the first few ingredients in borscht. When Nat was really mad, she didn’t yell.

By the time they came in, the storm was looming close. Tony seemed disappointed when Bucky jerked his head and they started heading back up the road toward Dockside. “That’s it?”

“The kids’ll stay out a little longer,” Bucky said wistfully, “but we’ve got to do storm prep before the rain hits.”

“Oh. Yeah, I... kinda forgot about that.”

Nat skipped up on Tony’s other side and started critiquing his form and trying to explain the proper way to pop to his feet. Bucky snorted, but Tony didn’t seem bothered. The two of them talked all the way back to the restaurant. Bucky was glad that they seemed to be becoming friends; Nat was a good person to have in your corner when the chips were down, and maybe Tony would actually open up to her about whatever it was he was running from.

Also, if Bucky’d had to focus on that bright, happy smile and the way the morning light snuck around the gathering clouds apparently for the sole purpose of making Tony’s skin glow, then Bucky would have gone _mad_ , so he was grateful to Nat for that, too. Then, just as they were turning into the Dockside’s lot, Nat interrupted herself to say, “Oh, Tony, Bucky perhaps forgot to tell you. When we go surfing, he lets Steve and me use his shower, and he washes off in the apartment. It’s faster. That’s not a problem for you, right?”

Bucky was going to _kill_ her.

 


	9. Chapter 9

No, it wasn’t a problem. Why would it be a problem? Tony stood in the middle of the messy little apartment with one hand over his face, listening to the water splash in the shower and rather desperately trying _not_ to think about the elephant in the room that was Bucky -- his _boss_ \-- being naked, less than fifteen feet away, water running down his body-- Not thinking it.

Nope, no problem at all.

Tony was fucked. He’d known Bucky was attractive from their first meeting, but that first week or so, he’d been too overloaded on terror and anger and betrayal and grief to even think about his libido. The last few days, however, had been _torture_.

Maybe it was because Bucky was safe -- he’d been very clear about his rules, the lack of intent toward Tony. Tony could fantasize, and it was harmless. Not risking anything.

Except of course that every time Tony looked at Bucky, now, he couldn’t help thinking about it. Couldn’t help wanting. Couldn’t help feeling the press of Bucky’s arm around his shoulders, which seemed to be happening more and more often, now that he knew Tony wouldn’t shake him off. When Bucky had put a hand on Tony’s hip to steady him, earlier, Tony had damn near popped a stiffie for all the world to see. Well, the part of the world that had been standing on the beach watching, anyhow: a gaggle of kids and his co-workers, which somehow made it _worse_.

So now Bucky was just on the other side of a flimsy, slightly warped door, naked and wet and... _touching_ himself (Not that way. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.) and Tony... Yeah, Tony was so, _so_ screwed.

And not in the good way. He groaned and flopped onto the couch next to Lucky, then pulled a towel over his lap, as if he’d just dropped it carelessly and not that he was trying to hide anything.

The water turned off. Metal curtain rings slid back. Tony tried not to visualize naked, dripping wet Bucky stepping out of the shower, running his fingers through that mop of dark hair, slicking it away from his face and --

“Aw, FUCK!”

That was definitely not part of the fantasy. Tony hadn’t heard anything like a crash or a thump that would have resulted in injury, but... “You okay?” he called.

The sound that came out of Bucky’s throat might have given a grizzly bear pause, a low, fervent _growl._ “I’m an idiot,” he said, after a moment. “Might have a problem, though.”

 _I’m having a problem out here, too_ , Tony didn’t say. “Anything I can do?” he tried, and winced at how much it sounded like a line from a terrible porno. Or maybe that was just his overactive imagination.

Bucky opened the bathroom door in a swirl of steam, one of Clint’s lurid purple towels around his waist. “Didn’t get the curtain quite closed. There’s water all over your floor. And… I don’t have any other clothes over here.” In one hand, he held his jeans, sopping wet, out away from his body. It wasn’t like Tony was seeing anything new, between the shirtless morning coffee and the surfing, but... The towel was wrapped tightly enough to outline the curve of Bucky’s ass, the split of the wrap teasing with a hint of pale, well-muscled thigh. His hair was dripping, covering his chest and shoulders with rivulets of water that Tony desperately wanted to lick away...

Fuck. This was not getting any _less_ like a cheesy porno. Tony squashed that before it could tell him the next lines in the script. “Okay, we can... Um...” He looked around, somewhat wildly. “Oh, here!” He snatched up a pair of sweatpants from the back of the chair and tossed them toward Bucky. “You can wear those until the dog and pony show have cleared out of your place.”

“I am not going to ask who’s the dog and who’s the pony in that scenario,” Bucky said. He tossed his soaked jeans on the bathroom sink.

Tony laughed, and was proud of himself for making it sound natural and easy. “No, probably best not to. I’ll just sop up some of this water.” And now he had an excuse to keep holding the towel, strategically placed, as he made his way to the bathroom. He gave himself a high-five.

The bathroom floor had become a lake, water spreading from the shower stall lip all the way past the toilet. One towel was not going to do the trick, here. Shit. Well, Clint had bought out an entire store’s worth of ugly purple towels, so there were plenty. Tony dropped his towel next to the door and turned to grab another one--

\--just in time to get a perfect, clear view of Bucky’s ass as he pulled on the sweatpants.

Tony’s knees nearly gave out. He leaned against the doorframe, and barely managed to drag his eyes away and snatch up another towel as Bucky turned around.

Oh, God. Those were his sleep-pants. The other sweats Nat had brought him weren’t nearly as worn and comfortable. Which meant Tony was going to be sleeping in the same pants that Bucky had worn. Sans underwear.

Fuuuuuuuck. _Not now, boner._

It didn’t listen, of course.

Bucky made a grouchy, disgusted sort of noise. “Why don’t you ever complain, Tony?”

Tony paused in the midst of scattering towels on the bathroom floor and twisted his head around to try to read Bucky’s expression “What?”

“I told you _weeks_ ago,” Bucky said, gesturing around to the boxes and bags of Clint’s stuff that Tony had been stepping around since he got to Sandbridge, “that I’d get a storage unit and get this junk out of your way. I forgot.” He chewed his lip and pushed his fingers through his hair, slicking it back, giving him the appearance of a 1920’s gangster. If mob hitmen wore too-tight sweatpants. “You shoulda said something.”

Clint’s stuff did, in fact, take up at least a quarter of the available space in what was already a crowded floor plan. Tony had sort of tuned it out after a few days; it was just static, really, like the constant rhythm of the surf or the outdated, ugly wallpaper. He didn’t spend a lot of his waking time in the apartment anyway. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, toeing the towels around on the floor to soak up the water. “You’ve already done so much. I wouldn’t want to be ungrateful.”

That was a fairly constant refrain in his life, anyway. His father, telling him he should be grateful for their privileged station and comfortable lifestyle. Ty, telling him he should be grateful for having escaped his father, for the way Ty took care of him.

Tony thought this might be the first time in years that he’d felt _genuinely_ grateful for anything -- and here was Bucky wondering why he didn’t complain more. It didn’t make sense.

“You’ve worked hard for everything you’ve got,” Bucky said. “And this is your _home_. You shouldn’t have to give up space because Clint’s an asshole and I’m forgetful. I’ll get it taken care of, right after the storm, okay?” He didn’t turn around, but the muscles in Bucky’s back were stiff, uncomfortable.

Tony didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong or how to fix it.

Before he could think of a response, Bucky said, “You should get your shower in. That seaweed down your trunks is gonna stick to your skin if it dries all the way.”

That sounded like something learned through hard experience.

Aaaand now he was back to thinking about what was down Bucky’s swim trunks. That he wasn’t wearing anymore. Because he was wearing Tony’s sweats, commando, his dick brushing against the same fabric that Tony’s had. Would.

“Yeah,” Tony managed, shoving the towels around until he could close the bathroom door. “That’s a, uh, a good call.”

He’d just gotten the water on and hot when Bucky tapped the bathroom door. “They’re done. I’mma go change and I’ll see you for storm prep when you’re ready.” And a moment later, the front door banged shut.

Tony sagged against the shower wall in relief. At least now he could deal with his most embarrassing issue.

He was too tightly-strung to bother with a tease; sitting there thinking about Bucky naked had been plenty of foreplay -- and then it had been topped with nearly-naked Bucky and a brief but thorough look at his ass.

Tony wrapped his hand around his cock, hissing at how oversensitive he was already. He stroked slow, and then a little faster, letting his eyes fall closed. Christ, but Bucky was a _menace_. Standing on the beach, hair dripping salty water down onto his chest and back, making paths Tony wanted to trace with his tongue. The steady, reassuring rumble of his voice as he’d helped Tony stand on the surfboard, his hands firm and gentle. His shoulder bumping Tony’s as they leaned on the deck railing in the mornings, sipping coffee and watching the waves. The way his arms and shoulders flexed when he was rolling a beer keg into place or holding a broken shutter steady so Tony could re-attach it.

Thick thighs, all muscle, and an ass Tony would love to get his hands on. The rough edge to his voice when he laughed, the roll of it when he and Nat were firing Russian at each other. Caring eyes and the kind of abs a man only got from real labor...

Tony gritted his teeth and a whine escaped his throat as he pushed into his grip faster yet. He dragged his thumb over the tip to smear pre-come around, slicker than the water, and a jolt of electricity juddered along his nerves.

And Bucky’s _mouth_ , god. He was always biting his lip, leaving it red and swollen like he’d been kissing passionately. And then he’d flick his tongue over it, and he _had_ to know what that did, didn’t he? It was impossible to watch that and not imagine that tongue teasing at nipples and balls, tracing the vein up Tony’s cock before--

Tony’s whine spiraled into a shout as he came, surge after surge spattering the wall and floor to be rinsed away in the next instant.

He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Only the certain knowledge that he was expected and needed -- that he would be missed and someone would come looking if he took too long -- gave him the strength to turn off the water and clamber out of the shower.

At least the apartment was empty so he didn’t have to get dressed in the tiny little bathroom. He was reaching for his jeans when he saw his sweats, neatly folded on the table, a post-it on top with “Thanks!” scrawled across it.

Bucky had come back into the apartment while Tony was in the shower. While Tony was jerking off. While Tony was jerking off and _thinking about Bucky_.

He might even have heard Tony moaning and _known_.

Tony picked up the post-it note, brushed his fingers across the fabric of the sweats, and did something he hadn’t done for a very, very long time: blushed.

***

Bucky didn’t usually smoke in the middle of the day; two per day was his compromise between his bad habits and his general attention to his health. (His ma had died of cancer, for fuck’s sake and smoking seemed somehow disrespectful, even if it wasn’t lung cancer she’d had.)

But he was gonna fucking fall over and die of a heart attack and he needed a cigarette damn bad.

He’d just put Tony’s sweats down on the table when he’d heard a familiar noise from the bathroom. Tony always sounded sexy as hell when he took that first sip of coffee in the morning. Starting work half-hard for the last two weeks had been killing him, but Bucky couldn’t seem to give it up. He was a pile of bad habits loosely disguised as a responsible adult.

Tony probably didn’t drink coffee in the shower.

And then Tony had made another sound, this unbelievable moan that had Bucky moving before he’d even realized what he was doing. His hand had been nearly on the knob of the bathroom door before he’d come to his senses and fled, closing the apartment’s door as quietly as possible behind him.

Oh, god. Oh, dear sweet _Christ_. He’d thought Tony’s little coffee moan was hot? That _sound_ was going to haunt him _forever_.

He lit the smoke and took a drag.

“Was it -- how do you say -- good for you?” Nat appeared beside him, silent like a spy as always, giving him her cat-in-the-cream smile as she leaned back against the deck rail.

Bucky choked, coughed. He almost blew the smoke in her face; she hated that with a passion, but if he did that, she’d step up her game and god only knew what Nat would do if she was actually _angry_ with him. “Nothing happened,” he protested. And then he blushed because he’d just… gone right where she’d meant him to go and now he’d said it out loud, so she knew where his mind was. _Fuck_.

Her eyebrows went up, just a little. Her act for the customers was so over-the-top, she tended to go the other way, understated and subtle, barely readable at all, when she was being herself. “Why not?”

“He’s not for me,” Bucky said, keeping his gaze steady on the ocean, not wanting to witness the smug flicker of emotions at play on her face. There was no point pretending he didn’t know what she was on about. That game never played out well. “I _can’t_ \-- there’s good reasons I have policies in place. I’m his _boss_ , it’d be all kinds of wrong to take advantage.”

She plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag. “You wouldn’t,” she said, as calm and certain as if she was telling him the sun would come up the next morning. “He wants you, too.”

Bucky scoffed. He wasn’t sure if he was denying her observation, or wanting, desperately wanting, to be convinced. “Since I’m such a great catch,” Bucky said, his voice edgy and unsteady. He held his fingers, veed out, for the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing a smoke ring.

“You are,” she said, her gaze inscrutable. “But that is not your call to make. Tony must decide what Tony wants.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said. “But that’s for him to make, I guess. If he starts something up. I’m still his boss, it wouldn’t be fair. Far as I can tell, he’s got _nothing_ , Nat. He hasn’t called anyone, doesn’t talk about people much at all. I don’t want to put him in a position where he thinks that he owes me, not like that. I don’t want anyone to think that. You already know what people think of me. It can’t start with me, no matter how much I want him.”

Nat was delighted rather than dissuaded. “So if he starts this thing, you will go along with it?”

Shit. How did she _do_ that? All she had to do was poke at him and he’d start talking just to fill up empty space. He opened his mouth to deny it, and then remembered that god damned _sound_ , and dear God, what he wouldn’t do to hear that noise while Tony was under him. _Oh, fuck_. He gritted his teeth, trying to push his desire away, to slow the pounding of his heart.

“ _Him_ ,” Bucky said, firm. “Don’t you go pushing him. Nor Sam. And you better not have money laid out on it, I know you, Natalia Romanov. No bets.”

“Of course not!” She rounded her eyes at him, innocent-wounded, and even though he _knew better_ , he couldn’t resist them. She threaded her arm through his and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy,” he said, patting her hand. “No complaints.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Steve probably didn’t mean to loom. But he did. He came up behind Tony in the kitchen Friday afternoon and luckily the coffee mug Tony was washing fell into the sink and hit the bounce mat. He’d fumbled a few mugs before, had them smash onto the floor. Sam told him it was tradition to break a few dishes and not to worry about it, but Tony didn’t like the way everyone whirled around when it happened. He was jumpy enough without being the center of unfavorable attention.

“Nat wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow,” Steve rumbled. “It’s our day off, ‘n Wanda and Sharon will be helping with the rush. Last weekend before Memorial Day, and then Season’ll start in full swing. Won’t get much of a break again until September. If you want to come up to town, that is.”

Nat had been dragging Tony along for her social activities, which had included going into town a few times. She’d taken him to the movies once. Another day they just drove around and she showed him the sights, including a stupidly large stone statue of Neptune right there on the beach, though Tony had been much more interested in the dolphins they’d caught a glimpse of just offshore. Sometimes Tony felt like a kitten who’d gotten adopted, rather than an adult.

That Nat would invite him to dinner wasn’t a surprise, since he seemed to have become her project. That she wanted him to come to dinner with her and _Steve_ , though... Well.

Sometimes he wondered why Nat was going to such pains to befriend him when her boyfriend obviously didn’t like him. Steve didn’t seem quite as suspicious as when Tony had first arrived, but that wasn’t saying much. Tony had asked her about it once, only to be skewered with her most disdainful stare. “Because _I_ like you, Antonishka,” she had said -- slowly, as if talking to a young and not altogether intelligent child. “What does Steve have to do with that?”

Tony had thought about Ty’s curled lip and carefully curated guest lists and not been able to answer.

And Steve was still looming, waiting for an answer. Damn, but that made Tony nervous. Still, he was Bucky’s best friend and Nat’s boyfriend; Tony figured their judgement probably could be trusted. And hey, maybe it would actually help to get Tony in Steve’s good graces. “That sounds good?” Tony said. “If Sam can cover me on short notice, I guess.”

Steve nodded. “Good, good. Asked Sam first,” he said. “No point in asking you, if it’s not doable. Wouldn’t leave Buck short-handed. Nat’ll come in and pick you up when she comes to get our checks.” Bucky paid Nat and Steve with official paychecks, and Wanda, too, but Sam and Tony and Sharon were all cash under the table.

Nat stuck her head through the kitchen door to call an order to Steve, and then she was gone again. Steve patted Tony awkwardly on the shoulder -- god, his hands were enormous -- and went back to the grill.

(The less Tony thought about that grill, the happier he was, because “seasoned” was not the right word for that thing. He’d have been shocked if it had been cleaned yet this century. He had to admit, however, that he’d never tasted burgers quite like the ones that came off that grill.

As long as he didn’t think about it too much.)

An hour later, after the six o’clock rush had died down a little, Tony asked, “Should I, um, bring anything?”

“My favorite kind of wine is ‘free,’” Nat said, dashing into the kitchen again. It was sort of freaky, the way she just turned up at the exact right moment. She snagged a pickled egg out of the barrel -- Tony was brave, but not that brave. He had no idea what a pickled egg tasted like, and he was fine with that gap in his education -- and dropped it on a side plate before heading out again.

“Wine,” Tony said. “Okay.” He could get Bucky to run him into town in the morning; there were some local wines that weren’t too expensive and relatively drinkable. And Bucky could probably talk the ABC store into letting him have a distributor’s discount.

“Great,” Steve said, from his place in front of the grill, and weirdly enough, he actually sounded pleased.

***

Tony wasn’t sure what he’d expected of Nat and Steve’s apartment in Virginia Beach, but it was nice. Nat had obviously gotten her way as far as decor went; the walls were painted rich gold and all the wall hangings were deep, blood red, giving the space a distinctly eastern European vibe. Black enameled plates hung on hooks around the walls, each painted with brightly colored birds or fruits or animals. The sofa was a decorative c-shape and was a decidedly unpleasant shade of pink that would have been out of place anywhere else.

Nat gave him the tour, which wasn’t much. The main front room was a typical layout, combination living room/dining room, crowded with furniture. The kitchen was narrow, and someone had stuffed a free-standing butcher block into the tiny space. With Steve cooking in it, there was barely enough room to change his mind. Whatever he was making smelled wonderful and decidedly not fried, which was frankly, a relief.

There was a spiral staircase on one side of the living room that led up to the two bedrooms. The master had a walk-out balcony, and Nat rather proudly showed off her view, meaning that if you stepped all the way to the far left hand side of the balcony and jumped, you could actually see a little bit of the ocean. Probably. But mostly the view was obscured by a giant hotel. And beach. A shiny patch of sand glittered between the buildings, surrounded by scrubby palm bushes.

“This is nice,” he said honestly, and tried not to think about the apartment in New York. It had been smaller than this, because New York cost of living, and they’d decorated very differently, but there was a similar sense of pride and--

Nope, not thinking about it. Tony stuffed his hand in his pocket and made a fist. It was done, gone, the past, and he wasn’t ever going back. The last... god, had it been nearly three weeks already? Those weeks had been some of the best Tony’d had in years, despite the chronic shortage of funds and low-level worry about not having any ID or any idea what he was going to do when his apartment’s itinerant renter returned in the fall.

He’d forgotten, with Ty, how nice it was to spend time with people. More than one person. Different people, sometimes. He’d run errands with Bucky or see the sights with Nat or shoot the breeze with Sam while working on that somehow always-needing-a-tuneup truck of his. Hell, he’d spent one of his off-afternoons down at the S-turn watching the teenagers trying to do tricks on their skateboards and helping Riri with her math, because he’d accidentally let it slip that he’d been an engineering student, once upon a time. And now this.

Ty had pouted and fumed when Tony hadn’t gone along with Ty’s plans. Had thrown jealous tantrums whenever Tony tried to make plans without Ty. Had monopolized Tony’s attention whenever they were out with Ty’s friends, so Tony hadn’t been able to really get to know them. Had, slowly but surely, cut Tony off from everyone and everything _except_ Ty.

He’d even been hinting that they could get by on Ty’s paycheck alone, once his next promotion came through. It’d been couched in careful terms of it being a privilege for Tony -- but it would have cut Tony off even from the people he worked with. That dream hadn’t been born out of anything like real love and affection, nor concern for Tony’s well-being, or inability to hold down a job, however it was presented. It was about _control_.

Had he even spoken to Rhodey, or Bruce in the last... four _years_? Christ. He didn’t think so. He’d sent a Christmas card to Rhodey’s family, that first year after Rhodey graduated -- the year Tony _would_ have graduated. But he and Ty had been just about to move, so he hadn’t bothered to put a return address on it, and the next year, Ty had offered to address all their cards...

Shit, _shit_. Tony’s throat closed and his vision blurred. Four years -- he didn’t even know where Rhodey was stationed anymore. Or where Bruce had gone for his post-doc work. He had no idea where they were or if they were even still alive. They probably believed he’d forgotten all about them. Which was fair, because he _had_ , without ever meaning to.

Fuck. Ty’s abuse had gone a lot deeper than the one time he’d finally lost control and actually hit Tony; it had been going on for _years_ , and just because it was more subtle than his father’s fists, Tony had completely missed it.

He clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back the undignified sob that was trying to escape, and focused his eyes firmly on the pale little patch of sand that was Nat’s “view”. He couldn’t... not here, not now. Later. Later, in the dark, with no one to witness but the dog, he would rage yet again at all the things Ty had stolen from him. Now, he had to swallow it down, be calm, be--

“We're all planning to spend the Fourth of July at Busch Gardens,” Nat said, casual, pretending not to notice his sudden distress while giving him something to focus on. Tony could have kissed her for that. “Bucky always closes Dockside for Independence Day. He says it is out of respect, but really, he's soft on Steve.”

Tony managed to swallow back the knot in his throat enough to rasp, “On Steve?” Tony’d overheard numerous tourists planning their schedules; Busch Gardens was an amusement park an hour or so north, in Williamsburg. Tony vaguely recalled the bus stopping in the town on his way down, and he was continually confusing it with the neighborhood in New York of the same name.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, “you don’t know. That is Steve’s birthday. Steve loves roller coasters and fireworks. And we love Steve, so we indulge him in this.”

A ridiculous giggle made its way out of Tony’s mouth. “Seriously? Born on the Fourth of July?” He snickered.

“I wanted the most American man I could find,” Nat said, in that tone that _probably_ meant she was kidding. “Steve is almost perfect. But do not tell him I said this thing. He barely fits in the kitchen as it is. He doesn't need -- How do you say it? -- a swollen head.”

Tony snickered again, and pulled her into a quick hug. “Thanks,” he said, trusting that she’d understand without asking.

“My birthday is not until the fall. October 19th,” she added, thoughtfully. “I'll be twenty-one. Isn't that what I'm supposed to claim now? Forever 21?”

“Too late,” Tony said. “I already know your terrible secret. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a walker and a Life Alert bracelet for your birthday, so you’re all set for your waning years as an ancient crone.”

“And I shall get for you a pacifier and a bib for yours,” Nat shot back. “When is that? I seem to have forgotten, in my senile old age.”

“Memorial Day, this year,” Tony said without thinking, caught up in the banter. “Maybe that will help you remember.” ...Crap, he hadn’t meant to give away any more potentially identifying information. Maybe she wouldn’t believe him; the sale banners for the holiday had started going up just today, so maybe she’d think he’d just picked it out of thin air.

“Poor you,” she crooned. “That’s the busiest day of our year. Bucky will not let you out of work. You will be cursing your mother by the end of the day. It’s awful. Horrid. The _worst_.”

“But at least I’ll have the privilege of seeing your smiling face all day,” Tony responded. “What better way to celebrate?” What would he even do with a day off, anyway?

Steve coughed, a deep rumble. How the hell did he move that quietly? Tony understood Nat ghosting around like a spy, she was tiny, but Steve could probably bench-press a Volkswagen microbus if he had a mind to do so. “Are you flirting with my mail-order bride?”

“He says this --” Nat turned to Tony with an air of disgust “-- and he has yet to actually propose to me. I should get a refund.”

Steve, much to Tony’s astonishment, blushed. “Dinner’s ready.”

Tony han’t known Steve could do that. “Lead on then,” he said, and ostentatiously offered his arm to Nat. “May I have the honor of taking you in to dinner?” he asked in his best Masterpiece Theater accent.

“Oh, he’s adorable, Steve,” she said. “I want one. Can we adopt him? I’ll feed him and take him for walks and _everything_.”

Steve snorted. “You burn water. And Liho thinks _I’m_ the feeding person, so, no, you can’t have another pet.”

“I’ll just make Bucky adopt him, then. I can have a pet by proxy.” She ruffled Tony’s hair.

Tony tried, really, really hard, not to think too much about being adopted by Bucky, cuddled and petted and-- He wasn’t terribly successful.

Dinner was incredible. Steve was a good short-order cook, but apparently that wasn’t the only skill under his belt. He presented and carved an elaborately braided beef wellington, along with roasted miniature vegetables and a cranberry walnut salad with goat cheese that Tony had several helpings of, because vegetables that weren’t potatoes were scarcely seen at Dockside. The wine he’d picked went reasonably well, even if it was a tannin-heavy red that made Tony’s teeth feel fuzzy.

“This is _amazing_ ,” Tony said after barely remembering to swallow his mouthful. “Why aren’t you a chef for one of the fancier restaurants?”

Steve actually smiled. “Because I like to cook,” he said. “I know, I know, that sounds weird, but short-order is easy. I don’t have to think about it. Working in a fancy place, I’d have to think, all the time, and make sure everything is exactly right and deal with sous and infighting and bickering, not even mentioning customers with a bug up their ass, which you get more of, the fancier the place gets. There’s more drama in a kitchen than on a stage. Cooking like this… this is an act of love. And I don’t love that many people.”

Tony paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “Huh.” It sounded -- not rehearsed, but like Steve had been asked this before, actually put some thought into it. Tony pointed the fork at Steve, greens wobbling on the tines. “Also, because Dockside is where Bucky is,” he guessed.

Steve nodded, not even trying to deny it. “Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” he said.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky pried himself out of bed at fuckme-thirty o’clock on Memorial Day. Friday had been a good night, steady. Saturday had been crazy and Sunday had been so bad that they’d all collapsed as soon as they shooed the last customer out the door, deciding en masse to do cleanup in the morning. Which was a dumb damn decision, and they made it every fucking year.

He practically cried, leaving the cradle of his bed and pulling on clothes. When he dragged himself into the restaurant kitchen, Nat was already there. She hadn’t done anything yet, but she was there, which had to count for something. She glanced at him, then poured a cup of coffee. And then she poured a Five-Hour Energy into the coffee and shoved it at him.

Which counted for _everything_.

“God, Nat, you have to marry me,” he said, draining the mug in one long pull. It was disgusting but he’d be grateful for it later.

“I am not marrying you,” Nat said, pointing a finger at him. “And do you know why that is?”

“I am positive you’re about to tell me.”

“Because you are an idiot. Epic. The biggest idiot ever. Even _Steve_ did not need to be whacked upside the head so hard with the clue-by-four.” Liar. Of course, Steve’s one awkward attempt to ask Nat out had been painfully awful. Ever since, Nat just informed Steve what their plans were. It worked out for them.

“I’m not clueless,” Bucky protested. “I’m _focused_.”

There were exactly zero words in the English language to describe the dubious look she gave him. It was a masterpiece. It should be hung in a museum. Bucky held up his fingers to make a frame around her face. Yep. Hyper-realism, right there.

“I am going to make you eat those words,” Nat threatened. “But first, _breakfast_. We’re going to need it.”

Steve was already at the grill. He had at least two dozen burgers cooking; they’d stay warm and moist on the side of the grill, and even with that head-start, he’d be cramming them on with no space between to keep up with the orders once things got into full swing. Nat handed him a carton of eggs, and he cracked them all onto the griddle, one after the other. He fried them up and then slid them onto a plate, yolks still runny, for the quick protein jump.

“Where’s Tony?” Steve asked.

Bucky glanced at the clock. “Walking Lucky, I expect.”

“Good. There’s a tiramisu and some gifts out in the car. Get ‘em upstairs at your place, before he gets back,” Steve said.

Something to look forward to, after they’d closed up tonight. Just a handful of people, really, but Bucky didn’t think Tony would want them to go all out anyway. He was still a little cagey around strangers. Bucky took Steve’s keys and made with the smuggling. The gifts were in a bag that he slung over his arm so he could use two hands for the cake-thing in Steve’s good crystal trifle bowl. It smelled like coffee and liqueur and cream and made Bucky’s mouth water immediately.

The smell of coffee hit harder when he opened the door. Shit, he’d forgotten to turn the auto-brew off. Oh well, Tony hadn’t had his first cup yet anyway. He stashed the cake and the gifts, then poured the coffee and headed back outside to wait for Tony, just like always. He was halfway through his second cup before Tony got back, and Bucky could already feel his heart racing and his brain vibrating from dumping that on top of Nat’s concoction.

“Happy Memorial Day,” Bucky said, offering over Tony’s mug. “How are you feeling? I had a bit of a Walking Dead vibe this morning, myself. But today’s gonna be profitable, I can smell it.”

Tony all but curled around the cup with a grunt -- so apparently, he was still a little bit zombie-fied. But he downed the coffee in three large gulps, and then shuffled his way into the restaurant to start the cleanup they’d skipped last night.

Three hours later, they were ready, and had about an hour to go before the crowds would start -- Memorial Day brunch was popular. Everyone gathered around the staff table and Bucky put down a large jar of O'Keefe's on the table. “Gimme your hands, Tony,” he said, straddling the bench.

Tony held out his hands warily, eyeing the jar.

Bucky turned Tony’s hands, inspecting them. His fingers were long and graceful, the nails bitten to the quick. The skin was chapped in places, and his forearms were dotted with bruises; nothing unusual for the kind of work he was doing, but today was going to be murder. Bucky scooped a double-fingerful of the hand cream out of the jar and started rubbing Tony’s right hand, working the cream into the skin and massaging out pain and stiffness.

“You know that’s just going to wash right off the instantooooooohhhhh god that feels good.” Tony half-slumped in bliss.

The rub-downs had been part of Memorial Day prep since Bucky had been a boy. Nat had already rucked her shirt up so Steve could spread the cream down her back. She was groaning almost as sensually as Tony. It was just part of the routine, Bucky told himself, but the fact that he was breathing harder just from getting to touch Tony -- that was _not_ routine, not at all, and he probably should have shuffled Tony over to Nat’s care because _fuuuuuuuck_ , he was going to die, hearing those groans and watching the faces that Tony was making.

And Tony didn’t _stop_ making noises the whole time, either. Moans and soft little whimpers and luxurious sighs, and yep, Bucky was straight up going to die. He very carefully did not acknowledge Nat, who he was sure was making a smug told-you-so face at him. Eventually, he stopped, and forced himself to let go of Tony’s hands.

And that was almost worse, because then Tony glanced over at Nat working the cream into Steve’s shoulders. Tony raised an eyebrow at Bucky, a question that he obviously was not sure how to properly voice.

Bucky couldn’t not answer. Couldn’t brush it off with an “I’m fine.” Nat would never, _ever_ let him get away with it. She’d make it into one of those obnoxious “I do not understand your strange American customs” things and make it into a Thing. Bucky managed to conceal his wince as he shoved the jar in Tony’s direction and turned around on the bench, peeling off his tee. “Lower back’s the worst, hunched over that damn desk all the time,” he said, roughly, body shivering at the core, waiting for Tony’s touch. Dear god, the shivers were going to be so obvious... Maybe Tony would chalk them up to the insane amount of caffeine Bucky had been downing.

And then Tony actually touched him and Christ on a cracker, why didn’t they do this every day, because the man’s hands were god damned _magic_. Bucky gritted his jaw and an embarrassing noise still managed to slither between his teeth.

Tony laughed, just a little, close enough that Bucky could feel puffs of warm breath on his skin. “I think he likes it,” he said, teasing. “I’ve been told that I’m not half bad at this, so it’s okay, feel free to worship me as the benevolent god that I am.”

“I’ll get started on that temple first thing tomorrow morning,” Bucky swore. He rolled his neck from one side to the other, his spine popping loudly. Oh, Jesus, did he just say that? Out loud and everything? It was far too close to “I’ll make you breakfast,” which was a come-on he would never use, not in a million years. The back of his neck heated.

“Glad to hear it,” Tony said, and Bucky could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll stop in and offer suggestions after Lucky’s walk.” He finished Bucky’s lower back, but didn’t pull away immediately, sliding his knuckles slowly up either side of Bucky’s spine, digging in just to the edge of pain. He hesitated at the base of Bucky’s skull, fingers teasing at the bottom of Bucky’s hairline, but then dropped his hands with sigh. “Probably shouldn’t get this gunk in your hair, huh?” He sounded almost put out by it, as if he wanted-- Bucky yanked that thought back by its tail.

On the other side of the table Steve was practically purring, slumping in relaxation. He tipped his head back to look up at Nat and said, “Really, woman, you have to let me marry you one of these days.”

Nat blinked down at him, then stared at Bucky. “Did you hear something? I think maybe the television got left on. I could swear I heard someone talking.”

Bucky leaned back against Tony for just a moment. “Outside,” he said, soft. “Now.” He adjusted his jeans and Bucky was just going to have to hope that Tony didn’t notice, because he was almost a hundred percent positive that Nat was about to either kiss Steve stupid or slit his throat, and Bucky didn’t want to witness either of those things.

Tony’s eyes were already wide, and he scrambled off the bench. “Yep,” he said, heading for the door at a brisk pace. “I’m just gonna go check the, uh. The thing.”

Bucky beat him out to the porch only by virtue of longer legs (and possibly by cheating and grabbing the back of Tony’s shirt to pull him back a few staggered steps). “Oh, god,” Bucky said as soon as the door closed behind them. “I hope he planned that, and he’s not just being a punk. She will _kill_ him if that wasn’t legit.”

Tony glanced back over his shoulder, expression vacillating between amused and concerned. “That was literally the least romantic proposal I’ve ever heard,” he said. “So she might kill him anyway.”

“That’s Steve Rogers, all the way down to the bone. You should have heard it when he actually asked her out, the first time. So _embarrassing_. I was distressed on his behalf,” Bucky said.

Tony snorted. “Terminally straight and so very not-smooth.”

“Not like he has to be,” Bucky pointed out. “Before he took one look at Nat and fell down the escalator -- not even kidding, by the way -- all the girls and plenty of guys threw themselves at him as soon as he looked their way. But before he started with the running and the weights and the actual growing, he’d barely talked to anyone but me. Skinny, sick kid, Steve was. Used to get his ass handed to him three or four times a week.” Bucky leaned on the porch rail and let nostalgia pull his mouth into a fond smile. “So, he never really learned how to talk to anybody. Not that it mattered much. Don’t think those girls wanted him for his conversation, anyway.”

“No, probably not,” Tony agreed. His eyes were on the horizon, and Bucky had no idea what he was seeing. “She doesn’t seem to mind. She’s good for him, from what I’ve seen. Grounding. She doesn’t let him get away with anything, but she doesn’t play headgames, either.” He glanced at Bucky, smiling slightly. “She doesn’t care about smooth. She just wants... _him_. It’s nice.”

“Natalia, she gives zero fucks,” Bucky said. “And she’s brutally honest. If she’s ever given you one of her pep talks --” He laughed. “You’re never sure if you’re fired up and ready to face the world, or just terrified of disappointing her.”

“Is that what you call them? I think I got one the second day I was here. I’m going to go with terrifying.”

Bucky squinted down the road at a family of tourists walking up the beach toward them, and checked the time. “Yep, time to open,” he said, slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders and giving him a half-hug. “Let’s go see if my cook and waitress are engaged or dead. If they’re dead, we’re going to be having a really long shift.”


	12. Chapter 12

From the way he was glaring, Sam was about ready to throw the night’s last customers out, preferably through the wide windows that overlooked the porch. Nat had stopped coming in to ask them if they wanted anything else at least fifteen minutes ago, and Tony knew for a fact that Steve had already shut down the kitchen. Tony and Sam pointedly wiped down the tables and swept the floor. Finally, the customers got the hint (or just got tired of them dragging the benches and chairs around to sweep under the tables) and left.

“Finally,” Sam groaned. He all but flung their mostly-empty glasses and completely-empty dessert plates into a bus bucket and gave the table the most desultory swipe with the rag Tony had ever seen. “I got these,” he told Tony, “if you’ll finish the sweeping. Lock the back door on your way out, would you, then come up to Bucky’s place? We got a little after-work thing, for having survived another Memorial Day without killing anyone. It’s a tradition.”

Tony tried to laugh, but he was too tired, honestly. “I hope it’s a tradition that involves booze,” he told Sam. “Lots and lots of booze.” He slumped against a table to breathe, no longer required to be alert and fresh for the customers.

“Yep! Nat’s had the vodka in the fridge since this morning.” Sam bent with a groan to grab a dropped spoon off the floor and tossed it in the bucket, then ducked into the kitchen. “One last shake of those tailfeathers; sooner you get there, the sooner I can get my booze on and raise a toast or three to the newly-engaged couple.”

That was a thought worth smiling about, at least. Nat had pretended to be exasperated that Steve had taken so long to get around to it, but the bright flush on her cheeks had lasted all the way through lunch and well into dinner. And every time Nat had come into the kitchen, Steve’s neck and ears had turned bright pink. They were adorable.

He finished the sweeping, dumped out the dustpan and all but threw everything into the closet. Last one out, he cut the dining room lights and made sure the front door was locked. He shuffled through the now-empty kitchen, tossed his apron on its hook, and set the lock on the back door before slipping through and tugging it shut behind him. He leaned on the door to make sure the latch had caught -- the damp salt air had warped the frame a little; Tony made a mental note to add that to the running list of handyman-type jobs to do.

The air outside was warm and humid, but it smelled of salt rather than grease, so Tony paused to take a few deep breaths before he headed around the side of the building. He stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to the second floor, where the residences were, and then sighed. He was going to have to lift his leg high enough to put a foot on the step. _Multiple times_. How was life so unfair?

“Ah, stairs,” he sighed, “my old enemy.” He looked up to see light glittering around the edges of the window-blinds, shadows of people moving behind them. They would be waiting for him, because they were like that, he’d found. “Right. I can do this.” He used the railing liberally, practically hauling himself upward hand-over-hand. It wasn’t until he was standing in front of the door that he realized this was _Bucky’s_ home, that he was going to see for the first time.

He shouldn’t be nervous about that, should he? Nah. What was there to be nervous about? Everyone was there. 

He still had to take a couple of calming breaths before he knocked.

Someone threw the door open and Tony was half-blinded by a series of camera flashes and cries of “Surprise!” and “Happy birthday!” Spots dancing in front of his eyes, he found everyone clustered in a semi-circle around Bucky’s kitchen table, which was piled with brightly wrapped presents and a cut-crystal trifle bowl that held -- was that _tiramisu_?

Tony blinked to try to clear the spots, looking in dumbfounded surprise from face to face -- there were so _many_ of them! Bucky, Nat and Steve, Sam, Sharon and Wanda were all grinning fit to burst. Just behind Wanda was a guy Tony only vaguely recognized as Wanda’s brother. And it was Riri who’d opened the door -- what the hell was _she_ doing here? It was after midnight and she had _school_ tomorrow--

It hit him, then, that they’d done this _for him_. Not the post-holiday tradition, and not to toast Nat and Steve’s engagement, but... “Oh god.” It was Nat’s doing, of course, because she was the one he’d slipped up and mentioned his birthday to. Except that it had been _Sam_ who’d brought around one of his mother’s homemade pies last week, and Tony had rather nostalgically mentioned his own mother’s tiramisu. And everyone knew Sam could barely make toast, which meant the actual creation of the dish had to have been Steve’s work. And-- “Oh, _god_.” He was going to fucking cry, wasn’t he, exhausted from two long, hard days and now _this_...

“Are you surprised, Tony? You didn’t give us a lot of time to plan, but I think we did okay!” Riri nudged him further into the room so she could close the door. “Mom said I could come, special, but you have to open my present first, because we still have school tomorrow and it’s already super late.” Riri practically danced over to the table and grabbed one of the packages, bright red with gold ribbons, and handed it to him. She bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “You’re my favorite. I’m so glad you decided to move here.”

Tony pulled himself together enough to hug her without fumbling the gift. “Me too, Ree.” He looked over her head at the others, and smiled for them. “Me, too.”

He opened her present -- candy from her mom’s store, of course, including Tony’s favorite chocolate-covered coffee beans. “These are going to be stone cold _necessary_ tomorrow,” he said with a laugh, and hugged her again. He tore open the package and poured out a small handful for her. “Those are to get you through school tomorrow. Go on, then, you shouldn’t have stayed up this late just for me.”

Wanda nudged her brother -- Peter? Tony thought, maybe? But not the Peter who surfed and skateboarded at the S-turn, a different Peter. “Walk her home, idiot,” Wanda hissed at him. Peter rolled his eyes at his sister, but separated himself from the cluster of people and followed Riri out the door.

Nat waited until they couldn’t hear Peter stomping down the steps anymore, then broke the seal on a bottle of vodka so authentic that no part of the label was written in English. Sharon was waiting with a tray of shot glasses, into which Nat poured liberal measures. Everyone grabbed one, and Nat raised hers. “First, to the birthday boy,” she said.

“To Tony!”

The vodka was smooth, barely sharper than water, and danced lightly over his tongue before lighting a blowtorch in the back of Tony’s throat.

Tony’s eyes watered. It might not have been _entirely_ the vodka’s fault.

“And next--” She refilled the shot glasses with easy grace, not wasting a drop. “-- to my husband-to-be, who has finally worked up the nerve to ask to marry his mail-order bride. Now, he must only find me a ring.” She waved her bare hand around, tellingly, which led to some cat-calls and good-natured muttering.

“To Steve!”

Tony managed to join in on the chorus for that one, a half-breath late. The vodka went down even easier the second time, and it seemed his head was already spinning.

The bottle went around a third time and this time it was Bucky who raised his glass. “To a successful Memorial Day and a good season!”

“To Dockside,” Nat said, raising her glass again.

“To _cake_ ,” Steve said, exasperated, pushing aside an offer of a fourth refill. “I don’t know about any of you, but I want sugar and caffeine.” He handed Tony a spatula, heavy enough to be real silver, and gently pushed him in the direction of the table.

Tony could barely remember his dinner break hours and hours ago, ten minutes hunched over the staff table wolfing down a burger that had been sent back for having too much onion, and he was hungry enough that he was sure the tiramisu would taste great no matter what. But it went beyond merely edible -- it was fluffy and perfectly balanced and those were definitely not storebought ladyfingers, or cheap instant coffee. It practically melted in his mouth. “Oh god,” Sharon said, echoing Tony’s thoughts, “I think I’m having a mouthgasm.”

There wasn’t enough liqueur in the tiramisu to be intoxicating, but Nat passed around more vodka, and Tony let himself melt into its warmth, not as an escape, but because he felt _safe_ , and -- and... and  _happy_.

Nat brought him a gift and brushed aside his attempt at a protest with a kiss on each cheek. Sam pulled his head down and made ridiculous loud kissy-noises on the top of his head. And apparently after that, they all decided that was the thing to do; Tony didn’t think he’d been kissed or hugged this much in the last _year_ , not like this, for the sake of affection and without any expectation of more.

Wanda giggled hysterically when her card exploded glitter everywhere, and then tugged Tony down (Wanda was _tiny_ ) to kiss his forehead. Steve’s hug was oddly gentle, like he was completely aware of how much stronger he was than everyone else around him, and he patted Tony on the back a few times. “Glad you stuck around, Tony,” he said. “Happy birthday.” Sharon, on the other hand, squeezed so hard she lifted Tony right off the floor, to everyone's vast amusement.

But among the books and movie tickets and -- had Wanda really made him a mixed CD? That was kind of weird -- it was Bucky’s present that stood out: a red surfboard of his own. And Bucky’s kiss didn't land on Tony’s head or cheek. Instead, Bucky took hold of Tony’s jaw and drew him into a very soft kiss on the mouth.

As far as kisses went, Tony had participated in more passionate ones, more skilled. Bucky didn’t even open his mouth, just let his lips mold against Tony’s for a moment, then pulled back. But it left Tony shaken and aching nonetheless, and if the others were jeering or teasing, Tony couldn’t hear over the pounding of his heart.

“Happy birthday,” Bucky said in his ear, a warm breath that made a shiver run down Tony’s spine.

Maybe it was just the exhaustion and the vodka letting Bucky bend his rules for a moment -- but if it was, then Tony was going to take full advantage, and cherish every sweet second. He caught Bucky’s shirt by the collar and leaned up for another soft, gentle kiss. When he pulled back, Bucky was looking at him with wide, dark eyes, full of wonder. “The happiest,” Tony told him, in all honesty.

Bucky smiled, like Tony’s happiness truly mattered to him. “Good,” he said. “And many more.”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky crawled out of bed, hating sunlight, vodka, gravity, and his life. In that order. He ached like someone had thrown him down the stairs. He stretched and groaned, categorizing his aches and pains. Made his way into his bathroom and scrubbed old vodka off his teeth. Dry swallowed some Advil. Pulled on his jeans and went to get his coffee, already cheerfully percolating in the other room like it was any other day. (Bless the timer function. Also, bless whoever had planned ahead enough to get it set up before the party had ended, because Bucky was pretty sure it hadn’t been him.)

The living area was a wreck, bits of wrapping paper and glitter everywhere. The wrapping paper was easily dealt with. He was going to kill Wanda for the glitter. Or make her come up and vacuum his place. Or both. There was some leftover tiramisu still in Steve’s crystal bowl, which Bucky decided could be breakfast. By the time he put his fork in the sink, Bucky was mostly human.

Bucky started to pour Tony’s coffee, then thought better of it. As sore as Bucky was, Tony was probably _dying_. He wasn’t used to Memorial Day and he’d been rather tipsy and falling asleep on his feet toward the end of the party. Bucky had nearly carried him across the walkway to his apartment. Tony had been clingy and handsy as Bucky had helped peel him out of his sweat-stained tee and take off his shoes and socks.

Bucky winced as he remembered how long he had hesitated, hands over Tony’s belt, before tipping Tony gently into the bed.

Fuck. Bucky had been too drunk and Tony had been too tired for them to do anything. And it would have been wrong. Wrong wrong _wrong_. Still, Bucky had spent more time than was probably healthy or sane just watching Tony sleep, one arm thrown over his head, the other tucked against his chest.

But the _point_ was, Tony could probably use a bit of a sleep-in this morning. Clint had mastered the art of letting Lucky out to walk in the morning without actually waking up -- everyone knew whose dog he was, and he’d always circled back home when he was done. Tony hadn’t quite figured it out, though.

Bucky considered the door to the apartment. Tony had dropped off in moments; it was unlikely that he’d gotten up later to do up the chain. Decided, Bucky crossed the walkway and opened the door a few inches, just enough for Lucky to slip out when Bucky called softly.

He grabbed an empty grocery bag from the coffee can he left on the back step and followed Lucky out to the beach. The sun glittered on the waves and the gulls were already circling overhead. Looked like it was going to be a great day.

Sharon was the only other employee who managed to get in early; Bucky put her to work sweeping the porch and making sure the dining area was set up. Sharon had a “main” job up at the Beach where she worked as a cocktail waitress at one of the hotel bars, but she was a single mom and needed all the extra work he could give her. While she did that, Bucky tidied up the kitchen and then dragged his exhausted ass into the office to start on the inventory; he needed to place his orders for this week by the end of the day, and the long weekend had definitely put a bigger than usual dent in the pantry and freezer.

The rest of the morning passed in a dim buzz of activity. Lucky stayed in the office, occasionally perking his ears or thumping his tail against the floor. Bucky worked on the purchase list. Sam stopped in with his hand out for the cash Bucky owed him. Steve came in and stood in the doorway for a while to chat before getting to work on the lunch prep. Nat followed Steve in to show off her ring, a black and white pearl set in a yin/yang sort of twist. It turned out Steve actually had gotten it for her _weeks_ ago, but had proposed on the spur of the moment while he didn’t have it with him. _Idiot_.

And then, just after lunch, Steve tapped on the doorframe again and hovered until Bucky looked up.

“ _He’s_ here,” Steve said, jerking a thumb out toward the dining room, mouth set in a grim line. “Wants to see you.”

_Fuck._

***

Tony woke slowly, warm and fuzzy-brained. His whole body _ached_ , but he felt pleased anyway, though it took him a couple of minutes to remember the whys: oh, right. The utter hell that had been Memorial Day in a tourist restaurant -- and then the surprise party, with its vodka and hugs and kissing.

Oh, god, he’d _kissed Bucky_. Bucky had kissed _him_. It had been sweet and chaste and that should _not_ be making Tony’s stomach erupt into butterflies. But god, the look in Bucky’s eyes...

Tony sat up, groaning at the protesting muscles in his back and legs. The sooner he got Lucky walked and got his hands on a mug of coffee, the better. Wait. Why wasn’t Lucky already half on the bed, demanding that Tony hurry up and get his ass into gear?

Tony opened his eyes, frowning in confusion. There wasn’t space in the apartment to hide a full-grown dog, aside from the bathroom. “Lucky? Time to walk, buddy!”

No response.

Alarmed, Tony swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring the protesting aches. “Lucky!” He stepped into his shoes, half-falling over and trying to suppress the sense of panic. Where the hell could the dog have gone? Tony distinctly remembered taking Lucky for the fastest evening walk ever during the not-really-slow period after the 7 o’clock rush, and he’d definitely brought Lucky back to the apartment after that.

He didn’t entirely remember getting back to his apartment after the party -- everything was fuzzy with exhaustion and vodka and Bucky. He vaguely remembered an arm around his waist, half-holding him up as they’d stumbled along the walkway from Bucky’s door to his. Had Lucky gotten out then? Had he been out _all night_? Shit, shit, _shit_.

Tony grabbed a shirt at random and reached for the door, freezing as he realized he hadn’t locked the door or set the chain the night before. His heart started pounding, and he felt like he might throw up. He’d been completely unprotected _all night_ , sleeping and--

 _Stop it_ , he told himself firmly. _Nothing happened. You’re fine. You have to find Lucky_.

Right. Lucky. Who had probably gotten out at -- what, two in the morning? -- and had therefore been running along the beach for... Tony checked the clock, and another jolt of panic slashed through him. He was _hours_ late, the lunch rush was probably already _done_. Why hadn’t anyone woken him?

He yanked open the door and half-vaulted down the stairs to the ground level. He could barely think, his brain ping-ponging between the dog and his job and the damn chain. He jerked open the kitchen door and piled through, already chanting, “Sorry, I’m sorry, oh god, I can’t believe--”

Steve jerked around to face him, and oh Christ, Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen Steve so _mad_ , not even those first couple of days when Steve had been sure that Tony was some kind of con artist or serial killer or something. Tony stumbled to a halt, and took a step back to make sure he was well out of reach of those tree-trunk arms. “Sorry?” he tried again, not even caring at the way his voice spiraled up into a squeak.

Nat was standing at the door between the floor and the kitchen, peering out the porthole style windows. “I could go refill drinks?” She glanced around. “Oh! Good morning, Tony! Enjoy your sleep-in?”

Steve muttered darkly and stalked over to the door. “Can’t believe the nerve. That son-of-a-bitch, why doesn’t he just leave it alone?” He stared out over Nat’s shoulder.

It... wasn’t Tony they were mad at. Tony sagged in relief. He was okay. A breath later, the rest of his brain spun back up. He edged into the kitchen, but couldn’t see past Nat and Steve to figure out what they were glaring at. “What, uh. What’s going on? Anyone seen Lucky?”

The dog trotted into the kitchen from Bucky’s office at the sound of his name, tail going a mile a minute. Tony went limp with relief _again_ , but Steve swore, pointing at the dog. “No dogs allowed in the kitchen! Go lay down, boy. Go on. No, you can kiss Tony later. Go lay down.”

Nat mouthed something, a feverish sort of light coming to her face. She gave Tony her biggest smile. “ _Tony_ should go! Oh, come here, you.” She pressed her lips together and then started arranging Tony’s hair, pulling the too-long tangles into some semblance of order. She straightened out his tee, brushing the wrinkles from it. “You are wearing the shirt I gave you, how delightful! _Somebody loves you_ ,” she teased, tugging his jeans down a little to show off his hips, like he was going clubbing and not to collect dirty dishes. “Perfect, just _perfect_.” She licked her thumb and wiped something off his jaw.

Tony knew better than to try to stop her, but he gave Steve a plaintive look. “What the hell is going on?”

“ _Senator_ Pierce is here.” Steve’s sarcasm was highly polished and sharp on most days, but Tony had never quite heard that tone before, like Steve was announcing the arrival of a child molestor and the stomach virus at the same time.

“I take it we don’t like Senator Pier-- Ow, Nat, that hurts!” He didn’t know what was on his face, but it couldn’t be worse than her rubbing a hole in his skin.

“No, we _don’t_ like him,” Steve said. “At least, Nat and I don’t. _Bucky_ likes him all too well. He’s had Bucky on a short leash for _ten years_. Bastard. Always bringing his new boy toys in to show them off. It’s disgusting.”

Tony could be kind of slow about people sometimes, but this was math that was all too awfully clear. Bucky was younger than Nat by a year or so, which meant the Senator had snared Bucky’s attention when he’d been a teen, probably around the same age Tony had been when he'd started dating Ty. And “boy toys” didn’t need much interpretation, either. Tony took a breath, let it out slow. “Right. First class asshole, all the way, then.” He scowled at Nat. “And you’re dolling me up because?”

“You need to go back him up. Distract him. Steve can’t do it,” Nat said. “Bucky threatened to fire him, the one year Steve said something to Pierce. And last year I broke a stack of dishes to get Bucky’s attention, but that won’t go over a second time.”

“You dumped a glass of tea on the boy a few years back,” Steve recalled with a grim smile. “What was his name? Ward?”

Nat chuckled, lightly. “He was at least nice about it,” she said. “No, you go, Tony. Do _something_. Make sure Bucky does not talk to him too long. We’ve kept him out of Pierce’s bed for the last few years, we must not break that streak. Bucky gets very... upset, after it happens.”

This was sounding more and more horrible by the moment. Tony gently nudged Nat to the side and peered out the window into the dining room. Bucky’s back was to the kitchen, hands held casual, but his shoulders were stiff and unhappy. There was a young man -- a kid, really, couldn’t possibly be more than eighteen -- sitting at the table, wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts, fashionably shaved head and thick, black spectacles. The kid wasn’t paying attention to Bucky, but at the person sitting across the table, eyes starry, someone Tony couldn’t see because Bucky was in the way.

Then Bucky shifted, and Tony got his first glimpse of the Senator. And oh, _fuck_ , if that was the guy Bucky had been pining after for ten years, Tony had _no chance at all_ ; Pierce was flat-out _gorgeous_. Older -- in his forties, if Tony had to guess -- but wearing it well, with a square jaw and golden-tan skin and blond hair that was just the right amount of messy. He had blue eyes and a smile that projected sincerity. Pierce was movie-star handsome, and carried himself like money and power, a dizzying combination.

No wonder Bucky wanted him. Hell, Tony half-wanted him, despite Steve and Nat’s warnings about what a prick he was. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. What the hell could _Tony_ do that would possibly distract anyone from _that_?

He stared in dismay, unable to move. Nat was saying something soft and urgent, but he couldn’t understand her over the rushing of blood in his ears.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pierce, (played by Robert Redford in The Winter Soldier, if you didn't know), was SUPER HOT [when he was younger](http://4.darkroom.shortlist.com/980/bedb2e1e62c88c97fe92f6605f489c25:5d62f5a03a78d907333c1b3f3daf4665/). Very, very crushworthy. We cannot blame Bucky for his youthful poor choices.


	14. Chapter 14

Sometimes, Bucky thought it was deliberate. That Alexander Pierce would _create_ this long moment just as Bucky walked into the room: Alex would be paying attention to his phone, or reading a book or newspaper, a breathless eternity in which Bucky could just stare without having to school his expression. And then it would end. Alex would look up and smile that 100-megawatt smile, like seeing Bucky was absolutely the best part of his day, and call out, “Hey, kid. How’s life treating you?”

For eight years, Bucky had both hated and lived for that moment.

Alex was _gorgeous_ ; he’d been stunning when Bucky was a teenager, and he was still probably the most dazzling man Bucky had ever seen up close and personal. Alex never seemed real, with his perfect skin and his rugged good looks. More like a movie star than an up and coming politician. When Bucky had first met him, Alex had been a district attorney -- and a young one at that, prosecuting cases for the state as young as thirty -- and now he was in the state senate. Rumor had it that he’d probably be running for Governor in a few years.

One of the bigger rentals down the beach belonged to Alex; he’d been coming to Sandbridge for the week of Memorial Day for as long as Bucky could remember. Even when Bucky had been a child, Alex had been there.

Alexander fucking Pierce, who’d seduced an entirely willing seventeen-year-old Bucky Barnes one summer, and then dumped him like trash the next year. Who brought his “assistants” and his “interns” and his “protegees” to the beach property for the week, a new one, every year. And Alex always brought them to Dockside at least once, like he was parading them in front of Bucky. Since Alex had taken his seat in the state senate, his young men had all at least been adults, but they’d stayed in the same age-bracket -- the oldest had been twenty-two -- while Alex got older. No less handsome, though. And even those boys hadn’t kept Bucky out of Alex’s bed, because whenever Alex crooked his finger, Bucky had gone, eager and hating himself for it.

Bucky had finally stopped letting Alex seduce him after Alex’s twenty-four-year-old trophy wife had a kid, some three years back. Bucky had been having a hard enough time as it was after the shit that had gone down with Rumlow; he didn’t need to be involved in a scandal with the Senator, or bring that sort of shame on a kid who would have to live with that for her whole life.

But it hadn’t stopped Alex from trying, or from bringing his latest boytoy to the Dockside every year. Bucky had taken a weird, fierce, uncomfortable sort of pride in the fact that it was never the same boy, that Alex hadn’t found someone to love. That it was always a new guy; that Bucky hadn’t… been supplanted. He’d just been _replaced_. And that no one was going to love Alex as much as Bucky did.

This time, Alex was studying the new menu when Bucky came onto the floor from his office, but Bucky didn’t stop to stare. He’d… Jesus, he’d forgotten that Alex was due in town.  _Forgotten._

Bucky walked over, his best customer-is-always-right smile on his face. The boy Alex was with this year was pretty, brown-skinned and sloe-eyed. Latino, probably. Neat and muscular. Sensual mouth. The sort Alex preferred. “Afternoon, Senator,” Bucky said. “It’s good to see you. Looking forward to the season?” He offered his hand and let Alex clasp his fingers, the warm brush of Alex’s smooth skin doing… _nothing_.

Huh.

“James, dear,” Alex said, easily, with every evidence of delight. “This is Jasper Sitwell, my personal assistant. Jaz, this is James, the owner of this lovely establishment.”

The anger burned, but this time… He wasn’t angry at the boy for having Alex’s attention. He was angry _for_ Sitwell. Angry that Alex was probably stringing the kid along with a series of lies; Alex lied in bed like a fucking rug. He’d always said such sweet things, had made Bucky feel important and cherished and loved, and… Here Alex was, getting ready to make someone else miserable. Did that kid even know what he was getting into, or was he was just as naive as Bucky had been?

Bucky’s shoulders ached from holding them back, keeping himself straight and casual.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky said, and stepped to one side so he could watch both Sitwell and Alex at the same time, instead of focusing his attention on Alex. For that matter, Bucky was suddenly and coldly certain that he never really wanted to see Alex again. That was… oddly liberating.

He directed polite conversation at the boy, asking about his interests, what he was doing at school, how the internship in Richmond was going. Alex’s eyes crinkled at the corner, like he was smiling, but Bucky knew Alex’s smile, knew every iteration of it, and that wasn’t the usual self-satisfied smirk that he wore when Bucky was seething with jealousy over the flavor of the moment. No, that was his debate-face. Alex was about to come down on Bucky with every weapon in his arsenal.

A twist of nerves cramped his belly. He’d barely been able to resist Alex when the man wasn’t even half-trying. Bucky’s refusal to sleep with Alex, these last few years, had taken more willpower than he wanted to admit, helped along by a few serendipitous accidents and Alex’s amused tolerance. But now, somehow, Bucky had waved a flag in front of Alex’s face.

_Shit._

***

“Tony,” Nat hissed urgently, but Tony’s feet were blocks of cement, too heavy to lift.

Then Pierce smiled, and Tony _knew_ that smile, had seen it a hundred, a _thousand_ times from his father, from his father’s friends and associates. That was the smile of a man who had encountered an unexpected roadblock, and was about to bring out the big guns and get _really_ vicious. And it was aimed at Bucky.

Tony was moving before he even thought about it, pushing through the swinging door and ducking around the counter to pull up at Bucky’s side. “Hey, sorry I slept so late,” he said, and he shot a coy look at Pierce from under his lashes before giving Bucky exactly the sort of devoted, adoring gaze that he’d perfected to keep Ty’s jealousy at bay. “I was all worn out after last night.”

For just an instant, Bucky stared at him like he had absolutely no idea who Tony was. And then all the puzzle pieces of Bucky’s best smile fell into place. When Bucky grinned like that, looked actually happy, he was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. “Tony,” Bucky said. An impish twinkle danced in Bucky’s ocean-gray eyes, and he slung an arm over Tony’s shoulders and kissed Tony’s cheek lightly. “I’d like you to meet one of our special customers. This is Senator Pierce. He’s been eating at Dockside since before I was born. Alex, this is Tony, my assistant.”

Well, that was one way to describe the job, Tony supposed. But Bucky had caught on fast, which was good, and was playing along, which was even better. Tony slathered on his most oily smile and aimed it at Pierce. “How nice to meet you,” Tony said. “Bucky never told me he knew anyone _important_.” He turned back to Bucky with a pout. “You never tell me the really interesting stuff.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me anyway,” Bucky said, gesturing to Pierce with an absent sort of wave. “I mean, you really just have to get to know him, to really understand how… much _influence_ Alex has around here. You know the Spanish villa? That’s his place. He and his family have been coming here since, oh, when was it, Alex? Your dad bought the place in 1985, when you were, how old? Twelve?”

Pierce’s smile grew more dazzling. “You still have a good memory, James. Sharp as a tack.”

“That long?” Tony said. “That’s great, honestly. It’s nice to know you’ve got a sense of tradition, Senator. Too many people these days are just after the next new thing. No appreciation for history.”

“Speaking of history,” Bucky said, giving the kid his attention. “Make him take you up to Colonial Williamsburg while you’re here. It’s worth seeing. Romantic.” He clapped a hand on the kid’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “If you’ll excuse me, Senator, I’ve got to get back to these books. You know how it is. No rest for the wicked.”

Bucky’s hand slid downward to rest at the small of Tony’s back as he turned them around to head into the kitchens.

Tony allowed himself a shark’s-tooth grin once his back was to Pierce’s table. Pierce wasn’t going to have Bucky _this_ time, anyway. He put a little sway into his step, knowing Pierce would be watching, and leaned into Bucky’s side. Subtly, of course.

As soon as the kitchen door swung shut behind them, Bucky pressed up against one of the walls and slid down to sit heavily on the floor. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He was shaking hard and breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

Nat and Steve were watching with identical round eyes and surprised, delighted smiles. Nat flapped a hand at Tony, _go on_ , so he crouched in front of Bucky. “Hey, you’re okay. You did good.”

Bucky curled up on himself, chin on his knees, hands lacing together at the back of his neck. “That _poor kid_ ,” Bucky said. “He’s got no fucking clue.” He banged his head against the wall in a sick rhythm, eyes squeezed shut. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Tony stuffed his hand behind Bucky’s head. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said. “Politics is an ugly, ugly game, I know.”

“Don’t hurt myself,” Bucky repeated, a wet, almost sobbing sound coming out of his throat. “Why the hell not? I’ve been doing it for years. Letting him get to me. Him and his parade of pretty boys. You know, I don’t think I ever realized how much of a fool-- I thought there was something wrong with _me_ …” He scrubbed at his face.

Jesus, that sounded familiar. Not quite the same circumstances, of course -- the age difference hadn’t been as pronounced between Tony and Ty, for one thing, and Pierce and Ty were wielding very different types of cruelty. But thinking that it was his own fault, that he wasn’t good enough... and then the shame of realizing what an idiot he’d been. Yeah, Tony was pretty intimate with those feelings. “Listen, it’s a power trip, that’s all it is,” Tony said urgently. “Knowing he can have someone new anytime he wants, knowing he still has power over you. It’s... It’s not your fault that he messed with your head, Bucky.”

“I loved Alex,” Bucky confessed. “My whole life. I knew I was gay the first time I ever saw him. Made excuses for him: he’s busy, he’s rich, he’s _important_ , he doesn’t have time for a nobody like me. After… I think I knew he would never take me back, but I kept hoping anyway. I don’t know. God, I’m sorry, Tony, you shouldn’t have to deal with me bein’ a mess.” He rubbed at dry eyes with the heel of his hand, wiping away tears that weren’t there. “Just shook. I…” He slid his gaze toward the door as Nat bounced in again to refill the sweet tea pitcher, eyes automatically drawn to Pierce; from that angle, Bucky could probably only see Pierce’s leg under the table, and it was doubtful that Pierce could see them at all. “I _forgot_. I forgot that he was going to be in town. I wasn’t expecting it, at all.” That seemed to perk him up a little bit. “Usually, I’m, you know, prepared for it.”

“By prepared, he means _moping_. Brooding.” Nat said, shaking her hair out with a disdainful sniff and did her best Bucky imitation, that “I am an exile from my home and have nothing” looking out to sea expression that Tony had seen cross Bucky’s face from time to time. “That man was no good for you. It is good that you finally realize this. You will be better for it.”

Bucky managed a trembling sort of smile for Tony. “See, what did I tell you? _Terrifying_ pep talks.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

The insanity let up a little -- only a little -- once Memorial Day was done, though Tony had been told to expect another surge in mid-to-late June, when the schools let out and families with younger kids started their vacations.

Tony’s intercession with Pierce seemed to have placed him solidly in Nat’s and Steve’s good books, even though he didn’t think he’d done much except turn up the snark and give Bucky a prop to hold onto.

Maybe that was enough. Tony hadn’t quite figured out how to break free from his father until Ty had come along, after all. However much of a douche Ty was, at least there was that to be thankful for.

Even better than Nat and Steve’s appreciation was the way Bucky looked at Tony. Not all the time, but every so often, a couple of times a day, Tony would notice Bucky watching, a faint smile on his lips, head slightly tilted to one side, as if he was trying to puzzle Tony out. And when he saw Tony watching, he didn’t look away, just smiled a little wider, waved or nodded or raised his coffee in silent toast.

Tony wondered what it meant. If it meant anything. Bucky hadn’t kissed him again -- not that he had expected it, of course -- but Bucky dropped an arm across Tony's shoulders even more frequently, leaned into Tony’s space when they drank their coffee in the morning, saved Tony a seat when they all went out to breakfast or for midnight pancakes at Denny’s.

They were well into June when the first really slow day hit. It was a Thursday, and it had been raining cats and dogs all day, keeping everyone indoors and drowning the sidewalk in a slurry of sand. The rain beat a comforting patter against the tin roof, but it was still so hot that on the rare occasions that someone opened the door, a wave of thick, sticky heat roiled in. It was like trying to breathe under a wet blanket, and he’d learned from the occasional brief squall that it would be even worse once the rain had stopped and the sun came out again. So, of course Nat threw an umbrella at him.

“Come now,” she said. She’d pulled off her sensible waitress shoes and was wearing a pair of hideous orange flip-flops that displayed her painted toenails and a tattooed hourglass over one ankle that matched the one on her surfboard. “I need ice cream. It is required. Mandatory. I will die. Or _kill someone_. If I don’t get ice cream.”

Tony squinted at the sheets of rain and gave her a disbelieving scowl, but her eyes were narrowed in that “don’t you dare cross me” look.

Steve, who’d peeked out from the kitchen to see what the yelling was about, blanched. “We have an ice cream emergency, Buck.” He backed away slowly, as if there was an angry bear in the dining room and he didn’t want to get its attention.

Bucky leaned against his office door and threw the deadbolt. That... That couldn’t be a good sign. And Nat was still staring at him.

Tony sighed. His cheap sneakers were going to get _soaked_ and be unpleasant to work in all evening, but apparently that was going to be the lesser evil. “Fine,” he groaned, pushing through the door and holding it for her the way people did down here. “Ice cream. Sure.”

The water was ankle-deep on the sidewalk. Umbrella or not, they were soaked to the skin in moments, Natasha’s shirt sticking to her, the water plastering her hair across her face. They were about a block away from Dockside before she linked her arm with his and started laughing. “Oh, god, did you see Steve’s _face_?”

Tony tried to frown sternly, but she looked like a half-drowned cat, and all he could do was laugh along with her, helplessly. “What the hell, Nat?” he complained, not able to put any force into it. “You just wanted to play hooky ‘cause it’s a slow day? If I get fired, I’m going to move into your apartment.”

Nat kicked at one of the puddles, splashing water on pretty much everything of Tony’s that wasn’t already wet. “I want to spend some time with my best friend,” she said. “I want to breathe air that doesn’t smell like egg and cheese and grease. I want a huge ice cream and not be able to eat all of it. I want to remember that I’m alive and free. Don’t you want those things, Antonishka?”

“I’m-- Sure, but-- I thought Bucky was your best friend.” He winced immediately. Stupid thing to say; it didn’t matter, did it? “I mean... You’re a very confusing person sometimes, Natalia,” he huffed.

“Me?” Nat was shocked, hand pressed against her heart, like he’d said something beyond the pale. “I’m honest. I’m open. I don’t pretend to be anyone I’m not. I’m simple. It is the rest of you who are complicated.” She hugged him, wet hair getting in Tony’s mouth, and then kissed his jaw. “You see, here?” She held up one hand, fingers spread. “You. Bucky. Sam. Clint. And Steve.” She touched her thumb. “It’s good, right? No one is less than. Or better. You are all my best friends.”

Tony honestly wasn’t sure how he’d wound up on that list, but it made him feel warm through. “Okay, but you just pretended to be someone who was going to kill somebody for ice cream so you could kidnap me and leave Steve and Bucky at the Dockside,” he pointed out. “Miss Simple-and-Honest.”

“They know better,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “No one can prove that I’ve ever killed anyone. And Steve hates getting rained on. Bucky would fuss and worry that we’d miss a customer. They would talk _logistics_. There are no logistics involved in _ice cream_. I did them a favor.”

Tony laughed outright. “How do you figure that?”

She leaned closer, conspiratorially. “They think they escaped. Steve will be extra nice to you, because he thinks you cheered me up. And Bucky will want to hug you and make sure I did not sharpen a knife on your bones. They will feel good about themselves, and then they will make us feel good. And we get ice cream. Everyone is happy.”

“You,” Tony said firmly, trying not to think about Bucky hugging him, “are a very manipulative person. But I’ll allow it, since there’s ice cream involved.”

“Does it count, if they know that’s what I’m doing? I give everyone what they want, without them having to ask for it. I work hard.” She was actually pouting, although it fell away as soon as they walked into the Baskin & Robbins, which was so cold inside that Tony was shivering by the time they reached the counter, where Nat was already getting a little too much attention from the server. Seriously, she could cut _glass_ with those things.

Nat took complete advantage of the server’s inability to look higher than her neck, getting sample after sample on those tiny spoons, licking and groaning obscenely, her tongue flicking out. She pushed a few of them on Tony, too, insisted on spoon-feeding him, quite literally. Finally, she made some decisions and ended up with a bowl of ice cream the size of her head, with five scoops and a ton of toppings.

“What do you want, Tony?” She said, digging out her wallet, which involved peeling it out of her soaking wet shorts.

“Mint chocolate chip,” Tony said. He eyed the rain outside and vetoed a cone, in case she decided they had to go out again before it was finished. “And to know what you’re really up to, but I’m pretty sure I’m only going to get one of those things.”

Nat hunched over her ice cream like she was concerned Tony was going to steal a spoonful, shoveling hasty bites of coffee crunch into her mouth with abandon. Once Tony got his cup, she dragged them to the table furthest from the counter and sat down. She grabbed a cherry off the top of her sundae and dropped it into her mouth, stem and all. A few moments later, she spat out a small knot into her hand and showed it to him.

Tony put a hand over his eyes and groaned. “I can’t unsee that mental image,” he complained. “Stop trying to put thoughts in my head that will make your fiancé kill me.”

“Bucky taught me,” she said. “He can do three at a time, in a little chain. You should get him to demonstrate.”

Tony lowered his hand just enough to glare at her. “Thanks. I can’t unsee THAT mental image, either, now.”

“Is it so terrifying?” she asked. “You watch him all the time anyway.” She nudged at his calf under the table.

Well, the back of his neck was warm now, at least. He should’ve known he wasn’t being subtle enough to escape Nat’s notice. “It’s pointless,” he muttered into his ice cream. “He was _very clear_ about his rules.”

Nat licked her spoon. “The thing about rules, Tony,” she said, very seriously, “is that they’re subject to the will of the ruling body. In this case, _Bucky’s_ ruling body. They are not written in stone, and there is no, how do you… oh, right. Police. There’s no police to enforce it. He can change the rules, any time he wants to. No one will mind.”

“No one’s stopping him,” Tony said petulantly. “Stop pretending your English isn’t perfect just to be a brat.”

“It gives me time to think,” she said, easily enough. “But I’ll stop underestimating you. You’re very quick, for all that you’d rather people not notice it. That’s a compliment.”

Tony glanced at her, and mushed at his ice cream with the spoon to make it soft. “Certified genius-level IQ, as it happens,” he admitted softly, because she was observant. “For all the good it’s done me.”

“Bucky… has learned some things the hard way,” she said. “It is not my story to share with you, and he does not talk about it much. But he made a big mistake, once, and he thinks that if he does everything right, follows all the rules, that nothing else can go wrong. But we know that is not how life works. So he clings to the rules and both of you are unhappy.” She sighed. “He sees the situation like this: on the one side, he is your boss. He is your landlord. He holds all the power.” She made a scale with her hands, pushing one hand higher with each example, the other lowering to the table. “He does not want you to see this… this imbalance, and think _obligated_. I told him I would not push, and I am not _pushing_. I am… cleaning the glass between you, so that maybe, you can see better.”

Tony snorted. “Also, you are splitting hairs, probably. But it’s okay, I won’t rat you out.” He stirred his ice cream some more, watching it slowly turn to soup, and turning her words over in his head. Holding them up to the light. “It’s not... that I don’t know what you’re saying,” he said carefully. “But I just...” He sighed, cautious. “In my experience, it’s the people with power who get to make all the decisions.”

“Then your experience has been _shit_ ,” Nat said, sudden, harsh. “Bucky is a better man than that.”

Tony’s eyebrow tugged upwards at her vehemence. “I know he is,” he said mildly. “I just... hadn’t really thought about it, I guess.”

“It’s hard for you,” she said, putting her hand on his wrist. “I’m sorry. I _am_ pushing. I am pushing very hard right now, and Bucky is right, I am bad. But I see you two, staring and looking and wishing and wanting and… it’s painful. You shouldn’t have to be hurting when you can be happy.”

Tony recalled, vividly, the expression on Bucky’s face at his birthday, when Tony had kissed him. Pleased, even... hopeful? Had he been waiting, all this time, for _Tony_ to say something first? What a pair of idiots they were. He flashed a smile at Nat. “Thanks. I’ll... I’ll think about that.”

She was scraping the bottom of her bowl. Christ, where had she put all that ice cream? Did she have some kind of dimensional portal in the center of her stomach? She eyed his melted sludge. “Are you going to eat that?”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky loved private parties; Dockside didn’t get very many, but sometimes summer families would rent out the whole restaurant, which was a food fee, and a rental fee, and staffing fees. And despite all that, it was actually easier to take care of one large group than a dozen smaller groups. Which meant while the Xavier family was downstairs stuffing themselves on crabcakes and boiled shrimp and playing bar games for a rehearsal dinner -- the oldest boy, Charles, was finally getting married to a girl from Ohio, who wanted a beach wedding and was just over the top enthusiastic about everything Sandbridge -- Bucky could take a fucking evening off and breathe.

Not that he did that, particularly well.

The relaxing part, that was. He’d been running flat out for as long as he could remember and if he sat in one place for too long, he started to get jittery. (Or he fell asleep, but he wasn’t sleepy at the moment.)

He’d gotten his laundry in the wash, did a load of his own dishes, made the bed. And he was sitting in his one chair, fingers drumming on the arm. Restless. A spark of sunlight caught the glitter on the floor -- Jesus, Tony’s birthday had been weeks ago and he was still finding glitter everywhere -- and he got up again. He turned on some music and started sweeping the floor.

As often happened, he found himself singing into the handle of the broom, dancing as he moved around the floor. He bumped the music up again until he could feel the bass line vibrating into his spine.

The music turned over to Luke Bryan. The beat was easy, loud. Bucky turned on his heel, pulling out moves from the country line dancing he used to do when he was younger. He sang, loud enough that his throat was feeling it, diaphram holding steady as he boot-scooted across the wooden floor, hands moving near his hips.

_You can hang your t-shirt on a limb_  
_Hit that bank and we can ease on in_  
_Soak us up a little moonlight_  
_You know I know what you like, yeah!_

He matched motions to the words, totally lost in the music, peeled off his tee and spun it around his finger before throwing it aside. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck and ran down his back.

_All them other boys wanna wind you up and take you downtown_  
_But you look like the kind that likes to take it way out_  
_Out where the corn rows grow, row, row my boat_  
_Floatin’ down the Flint River, catch us up a little catfish dinner_  
_Gonna sound like a winner, when I lay you down and love you right_  
_Yeah, that’s my kind of night!_

He let the broom slide down, putting the snake hips to work, and then spun around... Tony was standing in his doorway, eyes wide.

They stared at each other for a long moment, like deer caught in the headlights. Tony licked his lips, looked Bucky down and back up, then said, “Wow. You are... You are such a dork.”

Bucky scraped back his hair self-consciously. He was sweating like crazy; the AC didn’t work too well on the second floor. He snapped off the music and the sudden silence was deafening. Grabbing at the nearest smart-ass comment, he tossed his battered copy of Merriam-Webster at Tony. “Might want to borrow that for a while. I think the word you were searching for is ‘phenomenal.’”

Tony caught the dictionary with only a little fumbling and made a show of thumbing through it. “Hmmm. Nope, nope, it’s definitely ‘dork’.” He tossed it back, grinning. “Singing’s not bad, though.”

“Blame that on a teenage addiction to karaoke,” Bucky said. “Used to hit the bars up the strip with a fake ID, just to be able to sing in front of people.”

“Karaoke, really? Aaaand we’re back to dork again.” Tony smirked.

Bucky took a few steps closer; that smirk was going to drive him crazy. “Do you not know how to have fun, Tony? I mean, forget being cool, just have fun?”

Something hurt flashed behind Tony’s eyes, too fast for Bucky to read. “Who says I can’t have fun _and_ be cool?”

_Ow_. Bucky’s heart clenched, and his bones ached all the way down to his fingers. “Guess that’s why I never fit in with the cool kids,” he said. He couldn’t help it, he reached out one hand and ran his thumb over Tony’s jaw. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… just tryin’ to get you to relax, a little. I’ll just… was the music too loud? I’m sorry.”

Tony grimaced, but he covered Bucky’s hand with his own. “No, I’m-- I mean, yeah, the, uh, they were bitching about the music so Nat sent me up, but I was just...” His eyes slid sideways, uneasy. “Not sure I actually _do_ know,” he said softly. “Maybe when I was a lot younger. I’m a little jealous, really.”

Well, that, he could fix. Bucky turned the music back on, turned the volume down from its previous wake-the-dead level. “So, come dance with me.”

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

“Come on. Every savage can dance,” Bucky said. The country song ended and a dubstep piece started up.

“I can’t,” Tony protested, but his lips were curving upward again. “I mean, I took a semester of ballroom-dancing at-- at school, but it’s not... I can’t dance to _this_.” Despite his protestations, he was letting Bucky pull him into the room.

Bucky stood right behind Tony, one hand on his hip, curling the fingers of his right hand and bringing Tony’s arm around. “Loosen your hips,” he said into Tony’s ear, hyper-aware of his heat, the way he smelled, the feel of his tee against Bucky’s bare chest. “Unlock your knees. Listen to the music. Feel the rhythm of it, right in the center of your chest.” He used his ankle to push Tony’s feet a little further apart. Got his thigh in between Tony’s legs. “Lean to your left and look at me.”

Grinding was easy, the body took over the rhythm without too much coordination. The only easier dance Bucky could show him was slow dancing, stupid spinning around in tiny circles. Everyone who’d been to middle school could slow dance. But grinding had the advantage of also being sexy, let him put hands on Tony. And it was fun to do, in clubs, feeling another warm and willing body pressed up against his. God, he hadn’t been out dancing in a long, long time, not since -- NOT thinking about that, no.

“Feel it?”

“Is there a version of _Strictly Ballroom_ for club dancing?” Tony asked, but he was grinning again, teasing, leaning back into Bucky’s arm and letting his head fall back against Bucky’s shoulder. And he was moving, just a little -- his hips, swaying in the rhythm, pressing back against Bucky’s body.

Both hands on Tony’s hips now and Bucky moved, rocking his pelvis, his fingers tapping the beat out against the skin between Tony’s tee and the waistband of his jeans. “There you are,” he said, encouragingly. Every third beat, Tony’s perfect backside brushed against Bucky’s thigh, and _Jesus Christ_ , Bucky was going straight to hell.

The song was nearly over when Tony’s spine... _undulated_ was the only word that could possibly apply, rolling Tony’s body up snug against Bucky’s, and then he twisted and his chest was pressed against Bucky’s, his arms curling sensuously around Bucky’s neck, one leg hooking lightly over Bucky’s hip. “Did you know the tango is considered a ballroom dance?” he asked, all wide eyes and faux-innocence.

_You little tease._ And Bucky was almost angry at that, how much he wanted and how little he could actually have. Tony had come into his space, had mocked him and tormented him -- nevermind that teaching Tony to grind had been Bucky’s idea in the first place -- and now he was challenging Bucky’s skills? The _fuck_. Bucky shifted his weight and took Tony’s hand, pushing him into an aggressive stance. “You know the girl’s part?”

Something sparked in Tony’s eyes then -- challenge or anger, Bucky wasn’t sure. “I can follow,” Tony said. “Can you lead?”

Jace Everett probably wasn’t the best music for a tango, and Bucky hadn’t done it in a long time, but Tony probably didn’t weigh much more than a keg of beer. Bucky spun Tony out until only the tips of their fingers touched, brought him in on the beat and drew him into the salida, their feet flickering as Bucky walked Tony backward around the sofa.

_I don't know who you think you are_  
_But before the night is through_  
_I wanna do bad things with you_  
_I wanna do real bad things with you_

Bucky was fine, he was good, he was letting anger push him through the music, his motions precise and yet fluid. Right up until he dipped Tony backward and ran a caress, not touching, but pretending to, down the side of Tony’s face, along the line of his chest. Tony brought his foot up, rubbed the top of his sneaker against the back of Bucky’s calf and then Bucky was on _fire_.

He wanted to shut Tony up, shut him down, make him tremble with desire, listen to him beg to be kissed.

Bucky remembered that stupid movie, one of his girl friends back in high school (he was her mandatory gay best friend) had loved it, they’d watched _Strictly Ballroom_ a dozen times, or seemed like it. “The tango,” he said, not quite breathless, “is telling a story about love. Look at me like you’re in love.”

Tony _laughed_ , the little punk, throwing his head back and showing off his delectable throat. “You’ve actually _seen_ it!” he crowed. “Though it’s the rhumba, in the movie. But I don’t know that one.”

“‘Course I’ve seen it,” Bucky said, moving with the demands of the dance. “Had to get that stamp on my gay card before I could get my license.”

Tony spun, out and then back, winding himself into Bucky’s arms. Bucky dipped him, and they were close, almost too close, nearly cheek-to-cheek, and Tony’s arm was around Bucky’s shoulders. “I’ve been looking at you for weeks, you know,” he whispered into Bucky’s ear. “But it takes two to tango.”

He shouldn't. He _shouldn't_. But oh god, he was going to. He lowered his mouth toward Tony’s ‘til there was room for one or two, but not three sheets of paper between them, then stopped. He couldn't. Not without permission. “Tony?”

Tony’s eyes met Bucky’s, unafraid, pupils blown wide. “Kiss me.”

Well. That couldn't have been clearer. Bucky hesitated, drawing it out, letting the air sizzle between them. And then he let his mouth touch Tony's lips, a series of soft, nuzzling kisses, tender and sweet. Everything he always wanted in first kisses, teasing brushes of his mouth, slowly opening and drawing back, letting Tony chase him down.

He wasn't sure if he was doing it as a tease or because he wasn't entirely convinced this was happening. He was too stunned to move any faster.

“Oh god,” Tony breathed. He touched the side of Bucky’s face, fingers brushing light as cobwebs along Bucky’s cheek, as if he couldn’t believe it either. “God, Bucky, I--” His breath hitched and he kissed Bucky again, fingers sliding into Bucky’s hair.

Bucky opened his mouth, tongue darting out to brush Tony's lower lip --

Which, of course, was when the smoke alarm went off with a strident buzz, startling Bucky so badly that he let go, dropping Tony to the floor with a painful-sounding thud and a yelp.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” Bucky yelled.

Tony clambered to his feet, wincing. “Fuck,” he growled. “ _Damn_ it.” He grabbed Bucky’s wrist and pulled him toward the door. “Come on, come _on_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [That's My Kind of Night](https://youtu.be/crCqWK3SmRo) by Luke Bryan
> 
> [Bad Things](https://youtu.be/sMPNjPpdjKU) by Jace Everett
> 
> Bucky has eclectic musical tastes.


	17. Chapter 17

Holy fuck, but his tailbone _hurt_. Tony really hadn’t expected to be dropped, right in the middle of the most intense kiss he’d had for -- maybe _ever_ , Christ.

His head was reeling, and he didn’t think it was entirely from the horrific, spine-rattling sound of the fire alarm.

Though the fire alarm certainly wasn’t _helping_.

Tony sprinted down the stairs as fast as he could. He could just hear the wedding party as they streamed out the front door, alarmed voices and angry snapping between the strident blats of the alarm. He reached for the door to the kitchen, but Bucky grabbed his shirt and yanked him back.

“Don’t,” he said, half-yelling over the noise. “Check if it’s hot first!” He leaned past Tony to gingerly touch his fingertips to the door, once, twice, cautious. Probably Tony shouldn’t be thinking about how it mimicked the way he’d kissed Tony, right? Yeah, probably not.

His brains were obviously scrambled.

Bucky finally nodded and yanked the door open. Both of them fell through into the kitchen, which was filled with foul black smoke. Coughing, Steve was standing by the grill, fire extinguisher in his hands. “What happened?” Bucky yelled.

“Grease fire,” Steve rasped, and started coughing again. “Out now, but the--” More coughing. “--crabcakes are ruined.”

“Shit,” Bucky cursed. He stomped into his office, and a few seconds later, the alarm cut out. The silence was deafening. Bucky came back into the kitchen. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah. Nat herded them outside to be safe.”

“There’s that, at least,” Bucky sighed. He shoved his hands through his hair and took in the mess of fire extinguisher goo all over the grill and the floor around it. He squared his shoulders. “Okay. Let’s go see what the damage is, then.”

Steve glanced at Bucky. “You can’t go out there like that, Buck. Send Tony to placate them for a bit, but you’re… um…” He waved a hand at Bucky, barefoot and no shirt on.

Bucky flushed, dark, angry red. “Fuck me running,” he muttered. “Go on, Tony. Tell them I’ll be right out, so sorry, just an accident, blah blah. You know the drill. Please.”

“I can do that,” Tony promised. He was pretty good at placating and apologizing. He shot Bucky a wry half-smile. “Go get dressed.”

He tried not to feel Steve’s curious eyes on his back as he made his way around the mess and out to the dining room, toward the front door. A lot of them were just milling around on the beach, but there was a tight cluster of people around Nat, angry and loud.

Tony took a breath and shoved a hand through his hair, then stepped out onto the porch. “Hi there, sorry about the interruption,” he called, pasting on an apologetic grin. “Nothing to worry about, just a little kitchen incident, all taken care of. Is everyone out here all right?”

The woman who was leaning deep into Nat’s personal space whirled on him. “You’re not the manager, I’ve _met_ the manager. My daughter’s husband-to-be _knows_ the manager.”

“No, ma’am,” Tony agreed, keeping the smile plastered on. “I’m Mr. Barnes’ assistant.” Well, that’s what Bucky had introduced him to Pierce as, anyway. Sounded more authoritative than _dishwasher-slash-busboy_. “He’s making sure there aren’t any safety issues left inside, and he’ll be right out as soon as he’s talked to the fire department. He asked me to come make sure you were all okay.”

“Okay? What’s to be okay about it? The evening is ruined, _ruined_ , I tell you.” She puffed up like a toad wearing a sequined dress and pearls. “My daughter is in tears, right before her _big day_. We can’t get another reservation for tonight. I want to know what the manager intends to do about that!” She wasn’t quite taller than Tony, but the way she used her rather impressive bosom made him want to take a step back.

“ _Mom_.” That was the daughter in question, probably. She did not actually seem to be in tears. “It’s fine, Mom. Accidents happen. No one’s _trying_ to screw things up.” She directed a quick glance at Tony. “Are the staff all right?”

“Moira,” the mom snapped, “let me handle this. Go find Charles and sit down before you get anxious.”

Moira rolled her eyes. _Whatever,_ her expression clearly said.

Before the bride could get out of hearing, Tony said, “I’m terribly sorry about the inconvenience, but I’m delighted to know that there weren’t any injuries, of course.” He shot Nat a look. The last thing Bucky needed on top of this was to be sued for medical damages. Tony had watched Ty throw enough tantrums to know he needed to get the important details stated and witnessed as quickly as possible, or they would start rewriting history to suit themselves later. Nat met his eye and she nodded ever so slightly. Tony turned back at the bride. “Can I get you some water?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Moira said. She lowered her voice, not quite drawing her mother’s attention, who had gone back to berating Nat. “If you’ve got anything in the back, bring Mom a glass of wine, or something? I don’t want to listen to her shrieking all night. I _am_ getting married tomorrow.”

This one, Tony liked. He gave her a slightly more genuine smile. “So I understand. Felicitations,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He went back into the Dockside and ducked behind the bar, pulling out a half-dozen chilled bottles of water and a few wine glasses. The party had already gone through several bottles of wine; Tony found one already open and poured the remainder out into the glasses. He arranged everything on a serving tray, and eyed it cautiously before hoisting it onto his shoulder. He’d carried a couple of trays before, helping to get large parties served quickly, but he certainly didn’t have Nat’s easy grace.

He carried the tray out onto the porch, and made it down the steps without faceplanting. He took it straight to Momzilla, who was waving her arms at Nat. She accepted the wine as her fair due, but was not at all appeased. She was much more difficult than Ty to placate, it seemed. Of course, he couldn’t promise Momzilla a blowjob, so maybe that had something to do with it.

Bucky came out wearing a button-down shirt, his hair slicked back. He stopped, spoke in rapid Russian to Nat, who paled and ran back into the dining room. He didn’t look at Tony, though that was probably not anything to do with Tony and more to do with the way Momzilla had started in on Bucky before he’d finished talking to Nat. Bucky wasn’t going to have much more luck with her than anyone else. Some people just preferred to be unhappy; Tony was well-acquainted with that type.

Moira, on the other hand, was sitting with her fiancé and watching the tide roll in as the stars came out over the Atlantic. Charles was an attractive young man, thin, but elegant, in a wheelchair, and he was patting Moira’s hand as they talked. “Is anyone hurt?” Charles asked, as Tony came over to give Moira her water.

“No, thank you,” Tony said. “We’ve just got a mess to clean up in the kitchen. But that’s not so unusual, for kitchens.” He tried a smile, though he couldn’t help glancing back toward Bucky and Momzilla. Bucky’s shoulders were getting tighter and tighter. That wasn’t good.

“I’m gratified to hear it,” Charles said. His accent was light, British and pomy. “We used to vacation here, when I was a child. Before…” he waved a hand at his useless legs. “Someone being hurt would feel like an ill omen. As it is, I am assured that the worst events at the wedding become the best stories, later. I am marrying the love of my life, to be together for the rest of my life.” He smiled up at Moira. “I think we can use a few good stories, for later.”

Tony might have been bitter about them thinking of what was certainly going to be bad news for the restaurant as merely a story, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to it. The fire hadn’t been their fault; they shouldn’t have to feel guilty over it. Tony watched the couple smiling at each other, largely unperturbed by the chaos of their families and obviously deeply in love. Would he ever have something so pure and unshakeable? His heart ached with wanting.

Momzilla stormed up then, ruining the moment. “Come on, Moira, we’re leaving,” she snapped, grabbing her daughter’s wrist and trying to drag her away.

Moira planted her feet and tugged. “Mom!” She got behind Charles’s chair and turned him, the wheels not getting good traction in the sand. “Sorry,” she mouthed at Tony.

“We’re spending our honeymoon here,” Charles added, as they got back onto the pavement. “Perhaps if your kitchen problems are solved before we go, we’ll see you again.”

Cars were already pulling out by the time Tony got back to Dockside. Bucky had a smile on his face that was so fake it hurt.

It was almost a relief when the last car pulled away and that awful smile dropped away. Tony took a breath, bracing himself. “How bad?”

Bucky’s voice was absolutely cold. “Full refund, save the deposit. We get to keep two hundred dollars. The stove’s ruined. The grill plate cracked. Steve’s got an oil burn up his arm; Nat’s taking him to the ER now. And we’re out three thousand dollars, on top of making no money from other custom, tonight. And we’ll be closed for at least the weekend, probably longer, to get the smell out and replace the oven. Probably looking at almost ten grand net loss. And that’s if Hill _doesn't_ come down and bust me on some safety concern.”

It was _staggering_. For several long seconds, Tony couldn’t even _breathe_.

Bucky shrugged, trying really hard for diffidence. He was missing the mark, but Tony didn’t know what to do about that. “I have insurance. Ma always stressed that, insurance above everything else. Above the electric. Above _eating_ , keep the insurance paid up. So that’ll cover some of the damages. But it doesn’t cover the lost profit.” Bucky shuddered, strode back toward his place. He got all the way to the door before he broke.

Bucky yelled, furious and helpless, and slammed his fist so hard into the wall that Tony flinched. The entire the building seemed to shake from the impact. Bucky stood there, staring at the wall, and blood dripped down his fingers onto the porch, before he finally walked away, leaving Tony alone on the sand.

 


	18. Chapter 18

The insurance check was a beautiful thing and if Stan Lee hadn’t been eighty-five, Bucky might have kissed the postmaster. It covered a little more than half the damages (after the deductible came out) and would ensure that Bucky didn’t have to buy a new oven on credit. Interest rates were stupidly high, and while he could take out an equity loan against the Dockside if he had to, that put the restaurant too close to the bank’s hands for comfort. There were always box-places making offers on the land or the building.

The buyers would tear the building down the instant the papers cleared and something stupid and mainstay like an Olive Garden would go up in its place. They’d keep the staff on for a while, but eventually they’d be let go, since new people could be paid a lot less. Not that Steve would want to stay; cooking at a box-shop was all reheating stuff that was shipped in. None of it was fresh.

And people who were on vacation deserved to be able to have something new, not the same fucking food they could get around the corner. That was part of the fun of vacation, right? Not that Bucky’d ever really had one, but hey, he understood the theory.

He pulled into the parking lot and sat there in the cab for a long moment, staring at Dockside. They’d all been working like demons for the last three days, and if Bucky went up to Steelman’s tomorrow, they could reopen as early as Thursday. Assuming Steelman’s had an oven he could use, and that they could get it installed and ready--

Bucky broke off that chain of thought. One task at a time. Go inside and find out how the inspection had gone. Nat had sent him out to get the mail while Maria was poking around because he and Maria got along about as well as Redskins and Dallas fans, and if he was there, she’d find _something_ to fine them for.

He dropped the mail off in his office, then stuck his head in the kitchen.

Nat was standing in front of the grill, scrubbing soot off the wall. And Tony’s legs were sticking out of the oven door. Bucky walked a little further into the kitchen, and yep, for some reason Tony was lying half-inside the broken oven.

“Welcome back,” Nat said. “Did you bring us presents?”

“Brought the insurance check,” Bucky said. “What are you _doing_ in there?” He dropped into a squat. The inside of the oven was still filthy; it couldn’t be healthy for Tony to be breathing that shit in.

Tony craned his neck around and grinned at Bucky. He was nearly as filthy as the oven, covered from the top of his head to his knees in smears of soot and grease. “Hey! Good news; I think I can fix this for, nng, maybe two hundred dollars worth of parts?”

Bucky’s legs went out and he found himself unexpectedly on the floor. “What?” That didn’t even come out as a word, more like a rough exhalation of air.

Tony’s eyes widened. “Whoa, you okay?”

Bucky coughed, tried again. “What did you say?”

“I mean, that’s just a rough estimate,” Tony said, “so don’t hold me to it, but most of the oven is fine. The fire only fried some of the wiring, that’s an easy fix, once I take it apart. A couple of the panels will need to be replaced, and I’ll have to replace the interior insulation, but really, there’s no reason why I can’t have it up and running in a day or two if you’ve got a decent hardware store anywhere in the area.”

Two hundred? _Two_? A new industrial standard would run him almost three grand, twenty-five hundred if he managed to find a scratch-and-dent or someplace that had a floor model to sell. Tony was talking less than a _tenth_ that cost. Bucky scrambled after what was left of his wits. “I could kiss you,” he said, reverent. “Seriously? You… wow, Tony. _Thank you_.”

Tony squirmed a little. “It’s not-- Fixing things is what I _do_ , it’s... I was gonna be a mechanical engineer, this is all piddly easy stuff. Anyway, don’t kiss me now, I’m covered in nasty gunk, seriously.” He managed a grin -- the white of his teeth startling in his soot-smeared face -- and put his head back down and went back to doing... something... with a screwdriver on the interior top panel.

“It might be easy to you,” Bucky was obligated to point out, “but Tony, I’m serious. You may have just saved Dockside. If I had to mortgage this place…” The relief was like someone had taken a stone off his chest and he could breathe, a little, for the first time in days.

“Only fair,” Tony said from inside the oven, muffled. “You saved me first.”

Nat beamed down at them, and kicked Tony lightly in the leg. “Certified genius,” she said fondly.

“Shut up now, Nat.”

***

Bucky pushed back from his desk with a sigh. Tony had managed to salvage the oven for two hundred and sixty dollars, and it was stupid how apologetic he’d been over that miscalculation, but the industrial standard wiring was slightly more expensive than the stuff in a regular home appliance. And he’d been doing the math and estimates in his head. On the fly. While Tony had been doing that, the rest of the crew had pitched in on the cleaning and installing the new grill plate, and the re-opening had gone off without a hitch.

Steve wasn’t as badly injured as Bucky had originally feared, thank god. The grease had jumped him in a line across the forearm when he sprayed the fire suppressant, scalding a second degree burn. Weirdly like someone had burned him with a string, the wound was a twisty sort of jagged mark. Bucky was still guilt-stricken every time he looked at that brutal red line, but Steve had just waved it off. “Chicks dig scars,” he’d said, and then Nat had demanded to know why exactly he wanted to impress “chicks”, and cursed him out in her fake-angry Russian, in which she’d mostly called him a meatball.

Bucky had insisted on covering half of the emergency room bill, which had eaten up a good chunk of the insurance check (he’d offered to pay the whole thing, but Nat had given him that _Look_ of hers). And they were still down the profits from last weekend and the time they’d been closed for cleanup and repair.

But it could have been worse. Could have been so much worse. Tony was a gift. He was a gift and a blessing, and he would have been anyway, even if Bucky hadn’t… didn’t… wasn’t… lusting after him? That seemed crude and not exactly right.

“Hey, Nat,” he called out as she passed by, having hung up her apron for the night. “Borrow you for a sec?”

“You’ll have to ask Steve; he’s very jealous,” she said solemnly.

“Please take her!” Steve called from the kitchen. “She’s terrible!”

“You’re all mine, now,” Bucky said. “Have a seat, close the door.”

“At least you pay better than he does,” Nat said, smirking. She closed the office door and draped herself across the spare chair.

“What…” Awkward, but he pushed ahead. “What does Tony like?”

Nat beamed at him. “You, mostly.”

“I don’t fit very neatly into a package,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And it’s very hard to gift-wrap. Plus, technically, I think slavery’s illegal. What does he need, want? Like? He talks to you more about personal sorts of stuff. I need ideas, Nat.”

She considered him for an unnervingly long time, until he wanted to squirm in his chair like a kid waiting for a scolding. “What is the gift for?”

“Why are you interrogating me?” Bucky asked, plaintive. “I thought you’d be happy that I was… making an effort.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “It’s about time. But gifts can carry many messages. I cannot help you if I don’t know whether this is a gift that says, ‘thank you’, or if it is a gift that says ‘make passionate love to me’. These are important distinctions.”

This was… a language he didn’t speak. Which made him wonder if this was another girl-thing, like saying this shade of blue didn’t go with that shade of blue when it was all _blue, dammit_. “If there is a gift that says ‘I’d like to fuck you through the mattress’ I think it’d be kinda creepy to actually give it to him,” Bucky said.

Nat considered thoughtfully. “Not after you’ve already fucked him through the mattress a few times,” she decided, and slanted a curious look at him.

Bucky pushed his chair back on two legs and folded his arms. “I haven’t. Nosy.” Because, really, after he’d said that, Nat was going to ask, and if he didn’t tell her, she’d go ask _Tony_ and try to play it off as some cultural misunderstanding. “I don’t know, exactly. ‘Sorry I’m an asshole, thanks for saving my livelihood.’ Do gifts come in that complicated a sentiment?”

He’d expected her to laugh, or perhaps say something sly. He hadn’t expected her to sit forward and stare intently at him. “Have you been such an asshole,” she asked carefully, “that you must apologize for it?”

Bucky held up his thumb and forefinger. “Little bit.” He looked at his hand, raised his finger a little more. “About this much.”

Nat’s lips pressed together. “You cannot give him a gift to apologize.”

“Pretty sure Kay Jewelers thinks you can,” Bucky said. “Not, that, you know, I…” There was a dark, possessive sort of part to him that would rather like to see Tony wearing jewelry that Bucky’d given him.

Nat waved an impatient hand. “Jewelry stores also think that the amount you spend on an engagement ring is directly related to the strength of your love. Jewelry stores know nothing. But _you_ , you cannot give _Tony_ a gift for an apology.” She stressed it, carefully enunciating each word.

“I think you’re going to have to break that down for me, Nat,” Bucky said. “I’m gettin’ that it’s important, but I don’t understand why. So help me understand, because if I don’t get the reason for it, I’m gonna fuck it up somewhere down the line. Why not?”

She smiled a little, and then sighed. “Do you remember when Tony first came here?”

“‘Course.”

She nodded. “He was running,” she said, though Bucky already knew that. “He had been hurt -- we all know this, even if he chooses not to talk about it. He was afraid. He could barely bring himself to say no, to argue with anyone.”

That was true. Tony also rarely responded to a question with a straight answer. He usually asked a question back, instead, even if it was something as simple as whether he wanted to catch a movie. _Accommodating_ , that was a good word to describe Tony. Bucky shivered, suddenly painfully aware of the direction of Nat’s point.

“He had been abused,” she said, soft but flat. “Physical, emotional.” She laid a hand on the top of Bucky’s desk. “There is a pattern, to most abuse. Do you know it? The victim is hurt, or threatened, or neglected, and then the abuser feels guilty. Apologizes.” She met Bucky’s eyes. “Often, very often, with gifts.”

 _Jesus_. “Nat,” he whispered, the chair dropping flat to the floor with a jarring thump. “ _I’ve_ been neglecting Tony. We… we had a thing. A moment. A really great moment. Right before the fire. And I’ve barely spoken to him all week.” Bucky was going to throw up. Jesus. _Jesus Christ_.

“And if you give him a gift to apologize, then it will set off all his warning bells,” Nat agreed. “Even if he doesn’t realize it, it will make him wary.” She cocked her head. “You have not abused him.”

Bucky swallowed down his nausea. “Can I get _you_ a gift?” Bucky asked. “For keeping me from making the biggest mistake of my _life_.”

“Yes. I accept wine and chocolate.” She smiled, then sobered. “Apologize. Don’t make a big deal of it. The circumstances were extraordinary, you were very distressed; he will understand this. But no gifts, not for that. Besides, he has worked very hard to save you money; he will be upset if you turn around and spend it on him.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life,” Bucky said, trying really hard for sincerity. They didn’t usually do that; when Nat first come to work for Bucky, she’d been a wreck and any amount of emotion had sent her running for the bathroom to cry. They’d settled on a weird pattern of sarcasm and insults that usually made strangers think they were awful, _horrible_ people, but really, who cared what strangers thought? Nat knew she was loved. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

She stood and leaned across the desk to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad to be here,” she said. She straightened and headed back toward the kitchen, then paused in the doorway. “By the way?”

Bucky spread his hands. “Lay it on me.”

“I pushed. You are welcome.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

Tony watched the last customers of the night leave with more than a little relief; it had been an exhausting week, both physically and emotionally, and he just wanted to finish cleaning up and go fall on his face. He gathered their dessert plates and glasses, wiped down the table with a desultory swipe -- he was going to wipe them all down again in the morning anyway -- and carried the dish bucket back into the kitchen.

“They’re gone,” he told Steve, who had been getting a jump on the lunch prep while he waited for the last group to finally go. “I think Nat’s hiding in Bucky’s office.”

“I traded her in,” Steve agreed. “I need a new model. Something younger. Not so slavic. Got any prospects for me?”

Tony mock-sighed as he scraped the plates and dropped them into the dishwater. “I know what you’re asking, darling, but you’re just too high-maintenance for me.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Steve said, dragging Tony into a one-armed hug. “We’d look adorable together. You so dark, me so fair. You so tiny, me so impressive. Perfect couple, a study in opposites.”

Tony snorted and ducked out from under Steve’s arm before he was on the receiving end of a noogie. He’d learned _that_ trick pretty quick. “Me so nice, and you such an asshole.”

“Tony is too pretty for you,” Nat said, coming back into the kitchen. “Come home with an old woman. I promise, wisdom and skill make up for nubile beauty any day of the week.” She bounced up on her toes and whispered something directly in Steve’s ear. Something in the set of her body -- the way her neck was tipped, the press of her body against Steve’s -- made Tony think it was probably both dirty and a lot of fun. Steve’s ears pinked, and Tony gave himself a mental high five.

“With an offer like that,” Steve started, glanced at Tony, and didn’t finish the thought. “How fast can you walk?” He swatted her lightly on the ass and Nat didn’t even say goodbye before she was giggling and running through the dining area, Steve hot on her heels.

Tony laughed, and yelled, “Make sure the door locks behind you!” before turning back to finish the last few dishes.

He was just placing the last glass on the drying rack when Bucky came up behind him, big hands sliding onto Tony’s shoulders to rub out the ache there. “Hey,” Bucky said, soft in his ear.

“Nnng,” Tony managed, dropping his head forward. “Tha’s nice.” It was more than nice, really, and the way Bucky’s breath tickled the hair on Tony’s neck sent shivers down his spine, but... it’d been almost a week, and Tony was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined that kiss, or if Bucky had changed his mind. The fire had been a huge stress, but... Bucky could’ve at least _said_ something, right?

“Sorry,” Bucky said, not stopping what he was doing with his hands, running down Tony’s arms and then back up to rub tension out of his neck. “I don’t compartmentalize very well. I should have made sure we talked, about… about what happened. I didn’t because I was afraid I’d do it wrong, being so pissed about the fire. If you were, you know, worried about that.”

 _Of course I wasn’t worried_ leapt to his tongue, but he bit it back. It was the kind of thing he would have said to keep Ty pacified, and he didn’t want to do that any more. Even if it was hard to push the truth past his teeth. “A little. I mean. I know you were... distracted, I don’t blame you for that.” He grimaced at himself for being so fucking wishy-washy. _Yeah, well done, way to draw a line in the sand. Dummy_.

“I shouldn’t have allowed my distraction to get in the way,” Bucky said. “You deserve better than that. I should be a better man than that. You’re important to me, too. I won’t let it happen again. Forgive me?”

Tony hesitated, waiting for it. _Let me make it up to you_. _Give me another chance and I’ll make it worth your while_. _Here, I got you a little something to say sorry_.

It didn’t come. Bucky kept rubbing Tony’s shoulders, lighter now, just waiting. Tony turned, and Bucky dropped his hands but studied Tony’s face. Tony wasn’t sure how to read the expression. Worried, perhaps? Hopeful? Bucky wasn’t asking Tony to absolve Bucky’s guilt, to erase the mistake as if it had never happened. Bucky was asking Tony for permission to try again, to prove to Tony that he had learned better.

His forgiveness wasn’t being bought or coerced. It was Tony’s choice, and his alone. Tony’s heart climbed up into his throat at the realization, lifted on a flood of relief and happiness and affection, and he had to swallow it back down before he could say, “Yes. I-- yes, of course I do.”

Bucky grinned. “Great. Are you too tired? I thought we might have that talk, which we should have had last week.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t tired _now_. “Yeah? And what, exactly, do you want to talk about, then?”

Bucky gave him a wicked smirk. “Well, we can talk down here, and be nice and civilized and adult about how that was a nice kiss, but we don’t want to do that again, and I’ll be unhappy for a while and then eventually get over it. Or you can come up to my place, we can try the whole kissing thing over again, and then I’ll ask if you might want to try… dating.”

Oh, god, _yes_. Tony’s heart was going to pound right out of his chest, and his brain was already shutting down higher function in order to divert extra bloodflow elsewhere. “I would, uh. That one. The second one. The one with more kissing.” Tony grinned. “Definitely more kissing.”

Bucky pressed up against Tony rather deliberately, reaching past to pull the plug from the sink. “Good answer.” He kissed Tony’s neck before straightening up again, nipped at Tony’s earlobe. “I think we’re all done down here, yeah?” Tony shivered at the tickle of Bucky’s breath, and nodded, unable to form words.

Bucky twined his fingers with Tony’s and tugged Tony after him, through the kitchen and out the back door. He locked it one-handed, which was a little awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind, if it meant he didn’t have to let go of Tony’s hand.

And then it was up the stairs, which had never seemed quite so shallow or easy to climb. They were through Bucky’s door, and then Bucky apparently ran out of patience. He turned, pushing Tony up against the door, and claimed Tony’s mouth with a hungry groan.

And oh _god_ was that fine with Tony, because Jesus _Christ_ could Bucky kiss. Their first kiss on Tony’s birthday had made Tony warm and fluttery, and the kiss before the fire had made Tony’s knees go wobbly. This one would have knocked him flat if Bucky hadn’t been holding him up.

As many times as Tony had watched Bucky’s mouth, that tongue, those teeth... he’d never quite imagined it like this, hungry and needy and so, so sweet. Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, pushed his fingers into Bucky’s hair, holding on tight.

Tony licked at Bucky’s lip, tentative and exploratory, but Bucky’s mouth yielded readily; he had Tony pinned against the door, but he let Tony take control of the kiss for long, delectable moments. His hands were on Tony’s hips and he was pressing them together, letting Tony feel how hard he was, even through their jeans. The same flickers of desire that Tony had seen from time to time in Bucky’s eyes became liquid fire in his mouth as Bucky kissed him, traced Tony’s lip with his tongue. He let Tony draw out his tongue and they slid together in a wet, slick tangle.

Finally, gasping for air, Bucky pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against Tony’s. “Okay. Good talk.”

Tony laughed, a little hysterically. “Yeah? You sure you don’t want to go over any of those points again?”

Bucky backed away, drawing Tony in toward the sofa. “I need to sit down, before I _fall_ down.”

“Sitting is good,” Tony agreed. “I can work with sitting.” He followed where Bucky led, waiting until Bucky dropped down onto the cushions, then put his arms back around Bucky’s neck and slid onto his lap, straddling Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky touched Tony slow and reverent, as if he’d been given something rare and priceless and he didn’t want to break it. He drew a slow line down Tony’s cheek and throat, brushed the palm of his hand down Tony’s chest. He tugged lightly at Tony’s tee, getting a hand up under it to splay warm across Tony’s lower back. “So, um… dating,” he managed. “Was that a thing you wanted to do? Because I’d like that. Take you out, do stuff that’s fun. Spend time together.” He kept moving his hands like he was drinking Tony in with his fingertips, touching him, tracing swirling circles on Tony’s skin.

Almost, _almost_ , Tony would have said _anything_ to keep Bucky touching him like that, dragging trails of fire across his skin, but oh, god, Bucky deserved so much more than that. “I, we... already do fun stuff,” he pointed out. “And I know you mean more... Date-y stuff. But I’m, I don’t know if I’d be any good at it. I haven’t really dated much.” God, that was an understatement. He’d partied and fucked around casually, and then he’d been a possession, even if it had taken him too long to realize it. He wasn’t sure he knew how to do anything in between. Anything that involved give _and_ take, that came from real _caring_. He closed his eyes. “I’m not exactly what anyone wants in a boyfriend.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what I want, okay? I want to date you.” Bucky punctuated it with a short, hot kiss. “And you worry about what _you_ want. If you don’t want to date me, that’s okay. I’m a big boy, I can handle some disappointment. I won’t push or insist or turn you out, if that’s a concern.”

Tony stared at him. “You really...” He shook his head. Who the hell stopped in the middle of making out to be reassuring and, and perplexingly, infuriatingly _perfect_? Tony probably owed Nat more ice cream, now. He traced the line of Bucky’s jaw with one finger, around the shell of Bucky’s ear, and enjoyed the way it made Bucky shiver. “I want,” he said, half a breath. “I want to... try. I want to date you. I think I’d like that.”

The relief on Bucky’s face was a tangible thing, the way his forehead relaxed and that brilliant, helplessly happy smile crossed his face. He ran a hand up Tony’s spine and cupped the back of Tony’s neck, lifting his own face even as he pulled Tony in for another series of kisses, each one just a little deeper and dirtier than the one before, building up into a whirlwind of sensation. It wasn’t about technique -- Ty’s technique had been excellent, always left Tony breathless -- but Bucky seemed actually happy to just kiss. There wasn’t any rush; he’d barely done more than trace lines against Tony’s skin, wasn’t already pulling Tony’s clothes off. Not that Tony would mind; in fact, Tony would rather prefer he got on with it, because those teasing touches and slick, sensuous kisses were driving Tony wild. But Bucky kept returning to Tony’s mouth, eagerly tasting and exploring and learning. He tickled at the corner of Tony’s mouth with the tip of his tongue until Tony was panting with want.

Tony groaned and set about figuring out the best ways to make Bucky crazy, because damned if he was going to be the only one half out of his mind with need. He nipped at Bucky’s lips and tested the edges and corners of Bucky’s mouth, tracking the hitched breaths and moans and clenched hands.

Bucky’s jaw was rough with stubble and Tony nosed along the edge of it to the sweet spot under his ear, licked and nibbled the rim of Bucky’s ear and breathed hot into it just to make Bucky shudder.

“Oh, that’s… yeah, that’s nice,” Bucky murmured, going boneless under Tony’s mouth. He slid his hands down Tony’s back, stopped when he reached the waistband of Tony’s jeans. “Can I?” His fingers teased at the skin there, clearly tracing the line of consent, but even that was hot and arousing, the way Bucky’s fingers were warm and a little rough from all the work he did. The pads of his fingers scraped along Tony’s sides, just bordering on the edge of ticklish.

“Oh, god, yes, _please_ ,” Tony gasped, rocking his hips to grind them together, heated and electric and so so good even through their clothes. He mouthed down Bucky’s neck, sucking and licking at the delicate skin, salty and warm.

“Wanted to do this since I first saw you,” Bucky confessed. He slid his hands down the back of Tony’s jeans, the tight fabric keeping Bucky’s palms pressed snug against Tony’s ass. “So… so perfect.”

Tony laughed, shaky with need. “Feel free, anytime you want, that’s... God, you’re just too much.”

Bucky used his handhold on Tony’s backside to pull them closer, rolling his hips up to rub against the vee of Tony’s legs, and Tony ground down against him, rutting shamelessly. “Want you, want you, oh _Tony_ ,” Bucky said, raising his mouth for more kisses. He captured Tony’s mouth--

_AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrooooooooooooooooooo!_

At least this time Tony didn’t get dumped on the floor, he supposed.

He groaned, much less happily this time, and dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder for a moment before sliding off Bucky’s lap, every inch of separation a small agony. “Right. Walking the dog is a thing,” he sighed ruefully. “Ten minutes? Or-- you could come with?”

“I’ll walk with you,” Bucky said, getting up and adjusting himself with a painful grunt. “I swear to Christ, I’m gonna… Yeah, little fresh air might help.” He toed his shoes off and cuffed his jeans up a few times until he looked ridiculous, like he was going to go clam-digging. “Ever walked in the water at night?”

“Only when Lucky’s dragged me into the surf, a couple of times. Usually the evening walk is pretty quick, so I can get to bed.” Bed was definitely where he wanted to be right now, in fact, even if sleep wasn’t on the agenda.

“Come on.” Bucky held out his hand in offering. “It’s cliche, but that’s all right. I’ve have it on good authority that I’m a dork.”

“Yeah?” Tony slipped his hand into Bucky’s, and Christ, they’d just been making out, grinding against each other, about a dozen good thrusts from coming in his pants like he was fifteen; _holding hands_ should not be waking up the butterflies in Tony’s stomach like this. “Well, I’ve been told that I need to learn how to have fun, even if it’s dorky.”

It was late enough that no one was out to complain if Lucky was running around without a leash -- usually only tourists complained anyway. And that one lady down the road who had a loathing of all things canine, but Lucky avoided her, so that was all right. The moon wasn’t much, just on the far side of half, but the reflections on the water lit the beach up, a smoother, cleaner sort of light than the brilliant amber glow that New York City had. And Sandbridge was just far enough off the beaten path that there wasn’t much light noise.

Tony hadn’t known there were that many stars. Okay, well, he’d _known_ , but it wasn’t the same thing as looking at it.

Bucky glanced at him, sidelong, swinging their hands between them as they walked. “I was… um… thinking…”

“Dangerous.” Tony kept his tone light, even if his stomach was suddenly knotting.

“Sometimes,” Bucky said. “Look, Tony, I… maybe I’m presuming. But, you know, I… I had good reasons for my rules, and I’m about to break ‘em. And I’m not backing out -- I want you, _god_ , I want you. I was just thinking, maybe, we should take it slow? Let me take you out a few times before… before we jump right into it?”

Tony did not want to take it slow, he _really_ did _not_. He’d been fantasizing about Bucky for _weeks_ , and if it hadn’t been for Lucky, they’d already be naked by now, dammit.

But no one had ever suggested such a thing to him. Certainly not Ty, who’d tumbled him into bed within an hour of their first meeting, _weeks_ before suggesting that Tony should move in to escape his father. And not any of the random hook-ups Tony’d had before Ty, either. Maybe... maybe there was something to drawing out the anticipation a little longer.

Especially since Tony was pushing Bucky to overturn his rules, the ones he had good reasons to keep. Tony could endure a few more cases of blue balls and frantically jerking off in the shower, if it made Bucky happier, right?

He took a breath and let it out on a sigh. “Okay. If that’s what you want.” He slanted a look at Bucky from under his lashes. “I hope you realize this makes you even more of a dork, though.”

Bucky stopped and peered at him, like he was practicing his best Nat mind-reading skills, but the slight wobble to his mouth indicated he wasn’t having a lot of success with that. “I want it to be what _we_ want, Tony,” he said. “You’re important to me. I don’t want to… mess it up. But don’t think it’s because I don’t want you. I do. I want you, so bad. It won’t be too long. Can barely keep my hands of you as it is.”

Tony shook his head, grinning. “I’ve never heard someone be so careful about consent to _not_ have sex,” he teased. He squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Pretty sure you felt just how much I want you, but I... I know you’re reaching out of your comfort zone, here. Taking a chance. Be a pretty shitty way to kick things off if I wasn’t willing to meet you halfway, right?”

Bucky breathed out, slow, and drew Tony into a close embrace. He pressed his mouth against Tony’s forehead and then rested his chin on top of Tony’s head; it was nice, how neatly they fit together. Under Bucky’s thin shirt, his heart pounded in time with the rushing surf. “Okay, okay, that’s good, then.”

Somewhat to Tony’s surprise, given how desperate he’d been earlier, it _was_ good. It didn’t remind him any of the compromises he’d made to keep Ty happy, compromises that had stealthily inched their way into whatever it was Ty wanted. It was clean, like he was doing it for the right reasons -- not to keep his lover from being upset or angry, but to help him be more comfortable. Tony really, _really_ wanted to go to bed with Bucky, but more than that, he really,  _really_ wanted Bucky not to regret it. A weight had lifted from his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. He wrapped his arms tighter around Bucky’s waist and let himself enjoy this, just this.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky was an idiot. He stood in the shower, panting, and ran down the whole extensive list of every sort of idiot he was. It didn’t really help.

It had seemed like a good idea last night on the beach. Tony still seemed so unsure of everything, it had been important that they should take some time, ease into this change in their relationship. Fucking on the couch was all well and good (not that he’d ever brought a lover back to his place) but he wanted to make sure that Tony was… a hundred percent certain. And Bucky, too. He was breaking rules he’d put in place for a _damn good reason_ , and he wanted it to _be_ a damn good reason. And no matter how much he wanted it, a quick fuck wasn’t a good reason.

And _god_ , he wanted it. He’d have been happy to take what he was being offered, no questions asked, if he hadn’t been keeping those rules. If Tony’s wellbeing wasn’t more important than Bucky’s dick.

That had all seemed rational and reasonable. They’d stopped at Tony’s door and he’d kissed Tony goodnight. For... a while. Lucky hadn’t been too thrilled with that idea -- or maybe he’d been a little too thrilled -- and had gotten up on his hind legs to lick at both of them, which meant Bucky had gotten a mouthful of dog tongue. Not sexy.

And then Tony had gone inside and Bucky had gone back to his own apartment and jerked off. There was no way he was going to sleep without _some_ relief. Then he’d woken up at three in the damn morning and done it again. And just before dawn, he’d been tormented with images of Tony in his head and empty arms. _Christ._ He hadn’t wanked off this much since he was a teenager.

Bucky dried himself off, toweling his hair vigorously. He needed to get out for a while and get his head on straight, or despite his best intentions he was going to take Tony _coffee_ this morning, instead of coffee.

He poured Tony’s coffee into a travel mug to keep it warm, wrote out a sticky note -- _Headed up to the ‘burg. Back at lunch_ \-- and left them on the rail. He was in his truck with the music cranked before the sun was fully up. He parked at Colonial Williamsburg and was walking down Duke of Gloucester Street by seven, watching the costumed interpreters headed off to their jobs. There was a faint, familiar ache there; his mother hadn’t been a professional historical interpreter, but she’d been a hobbyist reenactor since before he was born. She’d have been pointing out the quality of the cloth, admiring the cut of a particular stomacher or trying to work out the intricacies of a certain hairstyle.

He sweet-talked one of the street vendors into a few squares of fresh, hot gingerbread right out of the oven. He packed half of it away to share and ate the rest.

A gaggle of kids, all staring at their phones, nearly ran him over in their attempts to chase down a rare pokemon.

Bucky got to the green, checked around in case anyone was watching, and then hauled himself up into the enormous oak that shaded the southern half of the lawn. The tree was huge, smooth-barked from decades of kids and college students playing on and around it, with plenty of finger and toe holds. It was a good tree. Better than the swamp-survivors down at Sandbridge, scrub-pines and tiny poplars. Being so close to shore, the salt water did a number on trees, and the ones that remained had to suffer through hurricane season every year.

It wasn’t long before he was halfway up, concealed in the thick, green foliage. Bucky found a good-sized branch, nearly as wide as a picnic bench, and laid down, letting his arms and legs dangle over the sides. Staring up at the leaves and sky above him, breathing the cool green and listening to the morning sounds, he was able to relax, to focus on sorting his feelings and motivations and unwinding them from the hot tangle of physical desire. Just... thinking.

Most of the shops along the street were open by the time Bucky found his center and climbed back down. He dropped into the candy store to pick up some treats that Mrs. Williams’ shop didn’t stock, like the chocolate-covered honeycomb that Nat liked so much. He grabbed chocolate covered apples for everyone, too.

And on impulse, an enormous gummy worm for Steve, who would stare it in horrified fascination before swearing he was not, not, _not_ going to eat that. Less than a week later, he’d have a terrible upset stomach and a green stain on his tongue, and Bucky and the others would laugh.

It was too early in the day for bread ends, but he stopped at the Cheese Shoppe anyway and bought a quart of their famous house dressing, a loaf of french bread, and a couple of bottles of cheap wine from the local selections. Then, laden with his purchases but lighter in spirit, he went home. It wasn’t much, really, not worth the gas for the hour-and-change it took for each leg of the trip, but he’d wanted the drive. Some time alone, without anyone else demanding his attention and fracturing his thoughts. Quiet was hard to come by at Dockside. Not that he didn’t love every second of it, but sometimes a man just needed to _think_. (Bucky imagined the face Nat would make if she heard him say that, all raised eyebrows and dubious snorts.)

Most of the way home, a detour to get around a snarl of traffic took him past an exit for Ghent, which brought a quick smile to his face. He had fond memories of the neighborhood, and didn’t get back nearly often enough. Which... come to think of it, gave him an idea for a first date. Yeah, Tony would like that.

***

Tony was still leaning on the balcony railing and studying the note when Steve and Nat arrived.

“Truck’s gone,” Steve observed as he unfolded himself from their ridiculously teeny car. “Buck run into town? We could’ve stopped if he needed something.”

Tony held up the note. “He left early, says he’ll be back for lunch. He ran up to the... ‘burg? He means Williamsburg, yeah? What’s up there?”

“Tourists. Even dumber ones than down here,” Steve said. “They just… walk right out into the street _without even looking_. Drives me crazy.”

“Short. Trip.” Nat brushed her hands down her short-shorts. “Ug. I swear, I have a wedgie so high it’s making my brain hurt.”

“I’m not helping you pick your wedgies,” Tony said. “What’s in Williamsburg for _Bucky_?”

“He said ‘burg and not barbeque?” Steve frowned. “Could go for some pulled pork.”

Tony peered over his cheap sunglasses at Steve. “We have barbeque _here_.” Nat had taken him to Doumar’s a couple of times, and even Tony’s Yankee sensibilities had been impressed.

“Not like Pierce’s Pitt,” Nat said. “Doumar’s is good. Pierce’s is better. Factor of ten. Almost worth the hour and a half drive.” She tapped her fingers against her lips. “Maybe he just…” She squinted up at Tony, head cocked to one side. Her gaze went from Tony’s bedhead, down his neck and then… “Oh.”

Tony twitched, but managed not to reach for his neck to check for hickies.

Steve shrugged. “Gonna get started. Probably have a good crowd today, the weather’s not even going to get up to ninety. It’ll be nice, especially patio seating.” He nudged Nat, who flapped her hand at him, and then he disappeared into the restaurant.

Tony sighed as soon as the door closed. “Let’s have it.”

“Did you sleep last night, at all?” Nat climbed up the stairs, coming up to lean on the rail next to him. “I can make you another coffee.”

“I slept,” Tony said. It was stupid, how hard he had to work to keep the blush off his face. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yes? What is it, that I think, hmm?” She took the long-empty travel mug from him, shook it, and took it to Bucky’s door. She braced her back against one side of the door frame, and pushed with her foot just over the doorknob, and the door swung open with a sharp tap of her elbow. “Coffee, coffee.” She dug through his kitchen cabinet with ease of familiarity and tossed a pod into the Keurig, thumbing the button.

Tony followed her as far as the doorway watching the coffee dribble into the mug. “You’re a menace. And we didn’t sleep together.”

Nat brought him back the mug, then made a show of pulling the door shut and checking the lock. “That’s not what I’m interested in. That will come in time. You… _talked_.”

 _No, don’t blush, don’t, no, NO-- Dammit._ “Okay, yeah. That happened.” He hid his face in the coffee.

Nat hopped up on the rail, swinging her feet. “You are happy, it was a good talk? Bucky was not stupid?”

Tony frowned at her. “Of course he wasn’t. He was...” Ug, they could probably fry today’s crabcakes on his face. “We’re... dating, now. I guess.”

Nat chuckled. “I love him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean he can’t be _stupid_. But you did not answer my question, Antonishka. How are you feeling, about… _dating, you guess_.”

“Really, really horny,” he said, which was payback for the wedgie comment. “And, uh, kind of nervous. In a good way. Just. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Well, then, everything will work out,” Nat said. She ran her fingers casually through Tony’s hair. “You’ll see. It’ll be just fine.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Tony grumbled. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do_.”

“Just be Tony,” Nat said. “That’s all he wants. You do not have to do anything, or be anything, except yourself. You’re exactly enough. Think of it this way; if _Steven_ can have someone as perfect as _me_ , you’re in a good position to have exactly what you want.”

Tony snorted. “Even if I’m not sure I know what that is.” He finished the coffee and pulled her off the rail. “You didn’t say what any of that had to do with Bucky going up to Williamsburg.”

“He is happy,” she said, simply. “And when he is happy, he likes to drive, and he likes to shop, and he likes to climb this tree. I do not understand this last thing, but it is something he does. Up the tree, like a squirrel. There is a particular tree. It’s a Bucky thing. But watch, he’ll bring back food. That’s what he does; Bucky feeds people. It amazes me that I still fit into my uniform.”

“Yeah, I can see you struggling,” Tony said dryly, but the idea that Bucky was happy -- that was... good. A relief. He hadn’t _quite_ worked up to worrying that Bucky was having regrets, but it had been hard to keep his thoughts pointed in a positive direction. “Come on, we need to get on with prep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the places listed in Colonial Williamsburg, including the big tree on the Green, are real. Tisfan used to climb that tree starting around age 10. In fact, somewhere, there’s a picture of her in colonial garb about forty feet up that was in the local newspaper.
> 
> Wythe’s Candy shop is a staple in Merchants’ Square on Duke of Gloucester Street, and they make hand dipped, decorated chocolate apples, among selling a million other sorts of candies. “Bread Ends and House” is the heel ends of assorted bread dipped in the Cheese Shoppe’s locally famous sandwich dressing, and is a favorite snack for William and Mary students (the older part of the college campus is adjacent to -- and often confused with -- the colonial area). The gingerbread shop is down the street, by the Magazine (where they stored the guns and ammo during colonial times) and first thing in the morning, it smells amazing.
> 
> We met at William and Mary, and we’ve both worked in Colonial Williamsburg and Merchants’ Square, so this chapter is pretty much just us being ridiculously indulgent and nostalgic.
> 
> [Mood Board](https://tisfan.tumblr.com/post/161694035204/mood-board-for-safe-and-the-sound-tony-dropped) post that tisfan set up at her tumblr, in case you want to look at any of these things


	21. Chapter 21

“I’m stealing Tony,” Bucky called out, just as the lunch rush was dying down. “We’ll be back before dinner.” He’d taken a little care with his appearance, which really wasn’t saying much between his pathetic wardrobe and the blistering heat, but he’d pulled out his super-thin blue tee, the one that left nothing whatsoever to the imagination and he’d used to great effect back in his clubbing days, and a white linen button-down that he left hanging open, along with his lightest, tightest jeans and boots. He’d slicked his hair back, but it was already falling in his face. One of these days, he was going to need to commit to either wearing it long, or get a fucking haircut already.

Pathetic wardrobe or not, Tony’s eyes darkened gratifyingly, and then he was yanking off the apron and practically tossing it at its hook. He slipped his arm through Bucky’s and winked at Nat -- _that_ wasn’t worrying at all. “Consider me stolen,” he said. “What’s cookin’?”

“Go grab Lucky, we’ll take him with,” Bucky said. “He could use an outing, too.” He was milking the suspense, not because there really was any, but because Tony was too adorable when he was grinning like that. Bucky could imagine, just for a little bit, that he might be able to spring a real surprise at some point. Not likely; Nat had told him more than once that he had a _terrible_ poker face.

Watching Tony climb the stairs to go get the dog… well, that was just bonus. Bucky leaned against the bottom pillars and didn’t bother to hide his ogling.

Tony glanced back as he fished out the key. “See something you like?”

“Every damn day, darlin’,” Bucky said. “Every day.” He winked.

Tony laughed and opened the door, and after weeks of practice, managed not to get bowled over by Lucky’s enthusiasm. “C’mon, let’s go out,” Tony said, and Lucky barked once in excitement as he scrabbled for his leash. “Good boy,” Tony cooed as he fastened it to Lucky’s collar, pausing to scratch the dog’s floppy ears.

He locked up again and came back down to Bucky, looking happy, relaxed and easy in a way that was all too rare. “I do feel like I should remind you that dog kisses and makeouts are not a great combination,” he said as he reached the bottom, teasing.

Bucky dropped to one knee, ruffled Lucky’s ears. “Hey, Cogan’s, boy? Wanna?”

Lucky jerked his leash hard enough to practically pull Tony over and didn’t stop until he got to the side of Bucky’s pickup, wagging his tail hard enough to send loose hairs flying.

Tony stumbled to a stop and shot a narrow look back at Bucky. “I feel like you’re cheating, somehow, here.”

Bucky opened the door so the dog could jump in, and then crowded into Tony’s personal space. “Am I? How’s that work?” He traced a little circle on the bare skin just over the collar of Tony’s shirt.

Tony’s eyelids fluttered at the touch and he made a soft little sound that might’ve been a hum or a whimper. “Definitely cheating now,” he breathed.

“Maybe a little,” Bucky chuckled. “Thought you might want to see Ghent. If no one’s told you about it.”

“Ghent is...” Tony’s eyes rolled up a bit as he thought. “The local gay spot, yeah?”

Bucky nodded. “It was trash for a while, cheap rent, no business. They’re trying to gentrify it up a bit, now, but still, I’d say at least forty percent of the residents are queer. Someplace we can go, walk around and hold hands and nobody will say anything.” He glanced down the main strip of Sandbridge. “Lotta local stores, women and gay run businesses. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah? Sounds like it.” Tony leaned up and kissed him, soft and easy, not putting much heat into it. “What’s Lucky all excited about, then? However much he needs a new collar and leash, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to scope the leather scene.”

Bucky snorted. “Nah, he’s going for Cogan’s--” Just the name got Lucky whining and scraping at the window with his paws. “--which is where you’ll see him live up to his nickname. Get in, it’s a bit of a drive. Worth it, though.”

Bucky was a little nervous, actually; Cogan’s was New York style pizza, and the owners were native New Yorkers, but what if Tony wasn’t homesick, at all. What if -- _stop it, Barnes. It’ll be fine. It’s damn good pizza._ Not like there weren’t forty other small bistros and lunch shops around, if Tony wasn’t in the mood. And they could walk down to the Hague and back up through the gardens. It was pretty.

Tony spent most of the drive scratching Lucky’s ears and watching Bucky, which was a little bit unnerving. Or maybe flattering? He wasn’t quite sure. Just when the lack of chatter was beginning to be too much, Tony said, “So how was Williamsburg?”

“Peaceful,” Bucky said. “Always liked it up there. My mom used to do volunteer stuff, few times a year, and take me with her. I brought some stuff back, to celebrate the re-opening. I’ll put packages together for everyone tonight. You all worked so hard, to get everything back up to snuff. I’m real grateful.”

Tony opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again. He tugged gently on one of Lucky’s ears and said, “Nat said you would come back with food.”

“My secret is out,” Bucky said. Of course she’d tell Tony that. If he was really lucky, she hadn’t already broken into his apartment to show Tony all the photo albums. Maybe she’d wait until after they’d been together for a while before she decided to traumatize them both with that. He glanced at Tony, then gave in to the temptation to touch, taking his hand off the gear-shift to cup Tony’s knee.

Tony put a hand over Bucky’s, and then laughed when Lucky rested his chin on top of their hands, staring soulfully up at them. “Beggar,” Tony accused, grinning.

“I swear, if I had a forwarding address for the Purple Monstrosity--” Bucky didn’t say Clint’s name around the dog, if he could help it; Lucky would howl and whimper. “--I’d send him a dozen photographs of how bad his dog is falling in love with someone else.”

“Fair,” Tony said. “I’m kind of stupidly fond of his dog. I’m gonna miss him.”

Bucky almost bit his tongue off not saying it. He needed to stop spinning castles in the air; even if he and Tony made it to September, it would be too soon (wouldn’t it?) to move in together. But god, he _wanted_ to say it. Let Clint have the apartment; Bucky wanted to wake up with his arms around Tony’s lithe form, wanted them to stumble over each other in the kitchen, wanted to complain about the lack of space in the closet and not mean a word of it. He wanted it so bad he could taste it, so much he could visualize it in exacting detail, and _had_ : Tony encroaching on every inch of his life and not being able to get enough of it.

He needed to get a grip; it was their _first goddamn date_. Bucky took a breath and said, “Well, maybe Bobbi will just keep him, this time.”

“Bobbi gets the Boy Wonder, and I get the dog?” Tony said. “Square deal.”

Not that Lucky was the only one who missed Clint; Tony filled a space, but not Clint’s. Clint was all sass and terrible habits and bad puns. Clint was an adrenaline junkie who got off on base-jumping and had been arrested more than once for trying to scale the Rotunda. Who got tanked off his ass and started bar brawls out of boredom. It had been… quieter, this summer, so far. Bucky eyed Tony, wondering if the two of them would get along; Clint wasn’t easy-going and tended to steamroll anyone who couldn’t keep up with him. Clint might be a little much for Tony. Or, Clint might decide that he needed a little brother in his life. Clint was an asshole, but when someone needed it, Clint Barton was right there, willing to lend a hand. Or a fist.

Bucky pulled the truck into one of the street-side parking spaces. “Make sure you have a hold of him,” Bucky cautioned. “He knows exactly where we’re going.” The air was full of smells; there was a bakery on the block, as well as Stella’s Coffee, but the aroma of pepperoni and tomato sauce, sausage and garlic was by far the most pungent and compelling.

Tony had to push Lucky down off his lap three times before he could even open the cab door, and as predicted, the dog tried to take off running as soon as his paws hit the ground. Tony, having wound the leash around his arm several times, dug in his heels and laughed. “Brat-dog, c’mon, heel!”

Bucky waved at the blue-haired girl who worked the counter at the comic book shop and led Tony onto the patio at Cogan’s. A heavily tattooed waitress dropped a menu on the table and took their drink orders, and then cooed over Lucky, who always knew a sucker when he met one. “Bring us two orders of knots, garlic for us, and plain for the pizza dog, would you?”

Despite it being the slow period between lunch and dinner, a few other tables were occupied; Cogan’s was always busy. A group of college-aged bears were clustered around their phones. A guy Bucky thought he’d seen here before was reading comic books with one hand and stuffing a monster slice into his mouth with the other. A lesbian couple was sharing a root-beer float, the tiny butch girl with her half-shaved head sitting in the lap of a valkyrie of a woman. Nostalgia snuggled up in a corner of his brain.

“Used to want to move here, back when I thought my parents would live forever,” Bucky said. “Had it all planned out. I was gonna finish school, and then get one of those condos along the Hague. Managed a two-year degree before the money ran out, and it’s been running Dockside ever since. I don’t even get the chance to come hang out too often anymore.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “Looks like a nice neighborhood. Miss it a lot?”

“Not so much as to change anything,” Bucky admitted. The waitress brought out the knots, oily and cheesy and stuffed with enough roasted garlic to kill an entire coven of vampires. Shallow black bowls held more garlic butter, marinara sauce, and some sort of white, hot-spicy goo.

“What can I getcha?”

Lucky was already nose-deep in his knots, snarfing them with abandon, flecking drool all over the patio floor.

“You are a disaster,” Tony told the dog with affectionate exasperation, not entirely unlike Nat talking to Bucky, come to think of it. He flicked a tentative glance at the waitress, then peeked at Bucky. “You order; I don’t know what’s good.”

“It’s _pizza_ ,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “It’s all good. Pick a topping, gorgeous.” One of these days, Bucky was going to find whoever it was that made Tony so terrified of his own opinion and punch them in the mouth a few times.

“Pepperoni, then,” Tony said. “Gotta start with the classics.”

“All pepperoni, and mushrooms on half, too, okay? Thanks.” Bucky grabbed a knot and ate it, then licked oil off his fingers; too damn good to waste it on a napkin. “Dunno if it’s up to your standards, but this is the _best_ pizza place in the whole Tidewater area.”

“Yeah?” Tony grinned. “We’ll see, I guess.” He nibbled on a garlic knot, more interested in surveying the street than in the food. When he’d finished it, though, he caught Bucky’s eyes before licking off his fingers, slow and sensual, that maddening little half-smile dancing around his lips.

_So… so many regrets._ Bucky’s stomach clenched and all the blood in his body made a mad dash for his dick, which stirred with interest. _Down, boy_. “What’d you used to want to do, when you grew up?”

Tony stiffened, just a little, the way he did anytime someone mentioned the past, but he shook it off. “When I was really little, I wanted to be Batman,” he offered, laughing. “But I took apart my dad’s very expensive espresso machine when I was about six, and put it together again so it worked a little better -- tamped down the beans harder, for a better caffeine hit -- so it’s pretty much been mechanics for me since day one.”

_Shit_. Bucky restrained a grimace and dipped one of the knots into butter and then shook cheese all over it. Much as Tony wanted to act like he’d popped fully formed into existence on Atlantic Avenue, Bucky wanted to get to know the man, what made him tick. What dreams he had, what interests. A dark, ugly, moody part of him wanted to know what the fuck he was running from, but Bucky didn’t dare push on that front, not yet. Maybe, maybe someday Tony would trust him enough to talk about it. Not like there weren’t things in Bucky’s past that he wanted to avoid talking about, too.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Bucky said, trying to picture a child-sized Tony. Which kept showing up in his imagination with Tony’s little fringe of a goatee, which was, in fact, hilarious. “Having trouble… imagining you as a kid. Bet you were a hellion.” He liked that picture; Tony as a spirited munchkin, constantly one hand in the cookie jar.

Tony pasted on an expression of outraged indignation. “I’ll have you know I was a perfect angel,” he insisted. “For whole hours at a time.”

“Suppose you had to sleep,” Bucky pointed out, reasonably. He leaned back as the waitress dropped a pedestal in front of them and slammed a piping hot pizza tray on it. Lucky was already pawing, gently, gingerly, at Tony’s knee, tail wagging hopefully.

Tony touched his nose and winked at Bucky, then brushed Lucky’s paw off, carefully. “Wait your turn,” he said. He eyed the pizza nearly as hopefully as the dog, though, carefully sliding one huge slice off the tray and folding it in half before biting off the tip. “Nnngg,” he said, then swallowed. “It’s not Famous Ray’s, but holy crap, that’s good.”

Bucky nodded in satisfaction. It was one of the things he liked about Tony: he wasn’t stuck up. Bucky had met a few New Yorkers before who were convinced that nothing could compare to the Big Apple. Not that Bucky probably wouldn’t feel hick as hell and slow and stupid and _southern_ , if he’d ever manage to get up north. That he’d bitch and complain, just so he had some sense of balance. Maybe Yankees had the same problems way down here, were out of place enough to be nervous. Hah. Probably not.

The second best thing about Cogan’s, aside from how good the pizza was, was how damn cheap it was. If Norfolk wasn’t so far to drive, Bucky would eat here all the time. Bucky sprinkled red pepper and cheese all over his slice and then committed the indecency of dipping it into the white sauce before stuffing his mouth.

Tony all but inhaled his slice, and ate a good half the crust before Lucky whined softly and jolted Tony out of some kind of pizza-induced trance. “Oh, sorry, boy.” He held out the crust and let Lucky snatch it from his fingers before reaching for another. “God, I don’t even remember the last time I had good pizza.”

Bucky slid his hand across the table, taking Tony’s fingers, not minding how oily both of them were. “Good, glad you like it. I keep wanting to show you everything an’ show you off. Look, local bad boy, Bucky Barnes, scores hot northern fella.”

Tony sputtered into his pizza. “Yeah, ‘restaurant owner’ is definitely right at the top of the list of bad-boy traits.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Wasn’t always an owner/operator. Used to get up to some shit, wild oats and all that. Alex wasn’t my worst mistake, but it’s been a while. Had to settle down a bit, after Ma passed on.”

Tony eyed him, obviously debating whether to ask, then sighed and fed the last third of his pizza to Lucky. “Well, we all make mistakes,” he said, so nonchalant that it made Bucky’s teeth ache. “You can tell me, if you want. Or not. I won’t judge.”

Nope. Bucky was not going to spoil a nice day by talking about Brock. He floundered around and landed on… “Oh, well, the court records are sealed, but Stevie and I once boosted a car and went cruisin’ down Atlantic Avenue. Real smart, that. There’s a law about passing the same spot on the Avenue more than three times in an hour -- not that that’s even _possible_ with the traffic the way it is… Steve was tryin’ to show off for this girl we knew, Peggy Carter. Wonder whatever happened to her.”

Tony snorted, unimpressed. “Joyriding, really? Clearly, I have fallen in amongst hooligans and reprobates. I may faint...” He draped a limp hand over his forehead. “Someone bring me some smelling salts.”

Of course, they’d still gotten arrested, and then the next time Bucky had been in front of a judge, it had been the same damn one, who’d remembered him. Yeah, it had been stupid, but he’d had no idea, none at all, what was in store for him. Bucky shoved it out of his head, then leaned over the table and kissed that smart mouth, tasting garlic and butter and the tang of pepperoni on Tony’s mouth.

Tony gave up his melodramatic pose to curl his fingers into Bucky’s hair and return the kiss, with interest. “Mm, dessert.”

Lucky was sneaking up on the table, taking advantage of their distraction to steal a whole slice, but Bucky was tired of people and things and accidents interrupting them. He kept a hand on Tony’s chin, the other one twining their fingers together, and let himself get lost in the kiss. The traces of red pepper on Tony’s lips lent a certain zing to the kiss, tingling at his lip and tongue. He licked his way into Tony’s mouth, not caring who saw them or what they thought, taking, taking everything Tony offered.

The dim thought finally filtered into his brain that if Lucky ate all the remaining pizza, Tony was going to have an utterly miserable night. Which might not be equal value to a few minutes’ worth of kissing. Maybe. Probably. He sighed and drew back.

Tony’s eyes blinked open and he he let out the rest of his breath on a soft whine. “Okay,” he said, panting a little, “if we’re going to walk around and see the sights, no more of that.” He ducked back in for another quick kiss, though, before sitting back in his seat and trying to adjust his pants discreetly.

He was probably right, but Bucky resented being cheated of Tony’s mouth anyway. Bucky paid their waitress and they dropped the leftovers in the truck before Bucky pulled Tony up against his side, hand on Tony’s waist, and directed him down the road. Lucky, full of pizza and a little inclined to sniff everything and everyone in their path, kept close, in case Bucky had tucked a spare slice in his pocket or something.

[](https://novarain01.tumblr.com/post/161830633006/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _amazing_ art at the end of this chapter is from [NovaRain](archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/works) (on tumblr as [novarain01](http://novarain01.tumblr.com/post/161830633006))! Isn't it gorgeous???
> 
> Cogan’s pizza is real, and the pizza is particularly good. The comic store and coffee shop are also real. Historic Ghent is a district in the Norfolk area and while there’s no official census on gay to straight population, the area has that reputation. It’s also got a ton of locally owned businesses and some really nice culture.
> 
> *****Animal Safety Note***** Pizza is very bad for dogs, especially garlic. Lucky is based on the character in the Hawkeye comics, and like many other comic characters, he can do things that don’t quite make sense within the bounds of science. Please don’t feed your dog much pizza or anything with garlic in it!


	22. Chapter 22

Walking around Ghent had been an _inspired_ idea, because while Tony didn’t want to talk about himself or his childhood much, he was _full_ of things to say about all the little shops they passed. It was a window on who Tony was, and Bucky was definitely enjoying what he saw.

They’d just turned down toward the Hague, a little curved inlet off the river, when a familiar voice yelled, “Jimmy Barnes, I ain’t seen you in a month o’ Sundays!” Which was all the warning he got before Dum Dum Dugan tackled them both and knocked them into the grass along the waterfront.

Lucky pounced, tail wagging like crazy as he covered everyone in licks, eager to play.

“Oof, _cocksucker_ ,” Bucky swore, elbow stinging and his white shirt now covered in grass stains. “Ain’t nobody shot you yet, you oaf?” He snatched Dum Dum’s stupid hat and threw it. Lucky chased it like it was a frisbee. “Tony, you okay?”

Tony rolled over and sat up. “Fine, yeah, I’m fine.” His eyes were flicking back and forth between Bucky and Dum Dum, though, a little rounder than usual with surprise and caution. “Who’s your, uh, friend?”

Bucky whistled for Lucky, who came over, dropping a well-masticated hat in Bucky’s lap. “Yuck. Good boy, Lucky.” He tossed the hat back to Dum Dum. “Help us up, knucklehead.” He held out a hand and let Dum Dum haul him to his feet, then offered a hand to Tony and did the same. “Tony, this is Timothy Dugan, better known as Dum Dum for reasons that are probably obvious. Dum Dum, this is Tony.” He hesitated for just a second, then went for it. “My boyfriend.”

Dum Dum was picking grass off his hat, but offered a hand that Tony took with only a heartbeat’s hesitation. “Any friend of Jimmy’s, and all that.”

“Don’t call me that, I hate that name,” Bucky complained, peering around. “Where’s Gabe?”

“New job,” Dum Dum said. “Uber driver.”

Given Tony’s rather frequent skittishness and anxiety, Bucky was half-expecting him to end up hiding behind Bucky until Dum Dum went on his merry, but instead he positioned himself in front of Bucky, leaning back against Bucky’s chest and twining the fingers of their left hands together. “Uber get much custom around here?” he asked curiously. “It’s not exactly a metropolis, and there’s way more parking than I’m used to seeing.”

“Some,” Dum Dum said, stroking down his luxurious walrus moustache. Bucky could swear that thing was two inches longer every time he saw it. “Mostly takin’ drunks home. And drivin’ old ladies to the grocery store. Stuff like that. Whatchoo doing up this side of town?” he directed at Bucky. “You should bring your boy up, sometime. We’ll play Settlers of Catan.”

“As long as Thor’s not playing, I’m in,” Bucky said, easily. It was hard to make time for games during the summer, but the thought of showing Tony to the rest of his friends... that was appealing. He could make time for that.

Tony tipped his head back to read Bucky’s expression. “Does Thor cheat?”

Dum Dum coughed out a startled laugh. “No, no, _that_ ain’t what Thor does. Thor’s… um. Well, let’s just say you’re not a local queer unless you’ve taken Thor Odinsson for a ride.”

“The ladies, too?” Tony chuckled, but his shoulders tensed against Bucky’s chest.

“Helps if you don’t think of him as a man, exactly,” Dum Dum continued. Describing Thor in detail was one of his favorite things. Bucky rolled his eyes and rubbed his thumb against the back of Tony’s neck. “More like… a sex toy on legs. Last time he was involved in a game of Settlers, a spontaneous orgy broke out. He had some _wood_ for your _sheep_.” He guffawed at the well-worn joke.

Bucky leaned closer. “I wasn’t there,” he said, quietly.

“I’m sure Nat would’ve never let you hear the end of it, if you were,” Tony said. He reached up and patted Bucky’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone make off with me.”

Dum Dum was still rambling on about Thor. That was always painful. If you hung around Ghent long enough, you were bound to encounter half a dozen guys who were convinced that Thor was “the one who got away.” Thor was upfront about the fact that he didn’t settle down, but sometimes guys -- like Dum Dum -- got stuck on him. Privately, Bucky wondered why Gabe put up with it, but it wasn’t his relationship, so he stayed out of it.

The next time Dum Dum paused for air, Bucky interrupted to say, “Count us in for a game night. Gimme a text so we can compare schedules and we’ll make a night of it. I’ll bring Nat and Steve, if everyone promises to keep their pants on. If I have to look at Steve Rogers’ dick again, I might cry.”

“I understand works of art can be very moving,” Tony teased.

“Jimmy’s just worried you’ll find somethin’ you like better,” Dum Dum said.

“My _name_ is Bucky,” Bucky said. “Knock it off, before I dump you in the Hague.”

That weird little line of tension in Tony’s neck came back. “Now, boys, play nice.” He tipped a faint smile at Bucky. “You’re not jealous already, are you?”

_Yes_. No. Well, a little. “Nah,” Bucky said. “Just tired of someone who insists on being nicknamed after a _lollipop_ givin’ me shit about my name. He ain’t my Ma.”

Dum Dum made one of his signature sucking dick gestures, crude, rude, and obnoxious, which broke the tension enough for Bucky to laugh at. “It’s what I’m good at,” Dum Dum said.

“Naming yourself after the lollipop kind of implies you’re more used to being on the other end of that equation,” Tony pointed out. Bucky didn’t have to look at his face to know he’d put on that sly smirk.

“Oh, he’s cute, Ji-- Bucky. I like him. Where’d you find him?” Dum Dum asked.

“Special order,” Bucky shot back. “Now behave, or I ain’t bringin’ him around your rude ass anymore.”

“I am behaving,” Dum Dum protested.

“ _Badly,_ ” they both finished, in tandem. It was an old line, and Bucky cracked up, leaning against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony smiled, though obviously the joke wasn’t quite as hilarious for him -- well, old in-jokes never were. He looked around for Lucky. “If we’re going to be back before the dinner rush...”

Bucky startled. Right, right. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Take care, Dum. Call me, we’ll come up. I’ll close up early one night, s’long as you give me some warning.”

“Phone lines go both ways,” Dum Dum pointed out. “Nice meeting you, Tony. Take care of this asshole, would ya? He’d forget his own head if it wasn’t attached.”

Tony offered Dum Dum his hand again, grinning. “Good to meet you, too,” he said. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

Dum Dum let them get about half a block away before yelling, “Bye, Jimmy!” at the top of his lungs. Bucky twitched his fingers and turned to lunge at him, best murderface expression on.  Dum Dum made a terrified swoon worthy of the stage, then laughed, and waved. Bucky scoffed, waved back, and tucked his arm around Tony’s shoulders.

“Asshole,” Bucky complained, though it was hard to stay mad at Dum Dum. “You’ll like the crew. I can’t wait for you to meet them all.”

“Yeah?” Tony relaxed a little, leaning into Bucky’s side again. “How’d you meet them?”

“Took my turn on the town bike,” Bucky admitted. “Can't really live ‘round here without knowing George Odinson and his two sons, Thor and Loki. They own like half the beach hotels. Anyway, I picked up Thor at a concert back when I was in college. Thor introduced me to Gabe, and Gabe to Jim Morita, and from there, everyone else. If you… yeah, if you meet him, I got three words for you: Don’t. Get. Attached. He will attempt to pick you up. And he’s very… convincing.” More than that, Thor was huge; he could (and sometimes did) _literally_ pick up people he was interested in.

Tony grunted. “Date-rape, convincing, or you don’t think I can stick to my ‘no’, convincing?”

Bucky blinked. “No, what? _No_. He’s just charming. Friendly. Fun. Sex just… doesn’t mean anything to him. He doesn’t take it seriously, and really does not understand why any of the rest of us do. He’s just enthusiastic and likes to share. Total cockslut. But in a good way. He’ll ask you every time he sees you, until you say yes. And then he never asks again. One and done kinda man.”

“Not my type, then,” Tony said. “I’ve had a few one-night-stands, but it’s not... satisfying.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I make us sound like a buncha oafs, but really, Thor is a _legend_. If you didn’t hear it from me, you’d hear about him from someone else. We don’t have to go, if it’s too many new people at once for you, or anything. Whatever you feel comfortable with. I just… you know, _want_ you to meet my friends. Want them to meet _you_.”

Tony seemed to warm at that, stopping and turning to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck and pull him in for a kiss. “I like people,” Tony said. “I’d like to meet your friends. I just don’t want you to have to... worry, that I’m...”

“Steppin’ out on me?” Bucky suggested.

“Something like that,” Tony agreed. “I... know he was teasing, what he said, but... I wouldn’t.”

Bucky pondered that for a long moment. _Good_ , was his first thought. Not appropriate on a first date. Not even terribly acceptable after long-term dating, not without putting a ring on it first. They were nearly back to Bucky’s truck before he figured out how to say it the right way. “You know you don’t belong to me, right? I mean, I like you, Tony. I _really_ do. But if you want to date around, I mean, you haven’t met much of anyone, ‘cept the tragically straight. And Nat, who’s engaged. And probably would kill anyone smaller than Steve with her thighs.” He’d wandered off the point; he shook his head and went back to it. “I don’t… I don’t get a say in that, if it’s what you want. Although I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know, so I don’t worry when you don’t come home.”

Tony’s eyes were huge, and the microexpressions flickering across his face suggested any of a dozen different emotions battling for control. After a couple of minutes that seemed to drag on for hours, he said, “I don’t really want to date around, Bucky. I like _you_. I want to... to see what we’ve got. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, but the only thing that was in his head, ricocheting around, was a possessive refrain -- _He’s mine, he chose_ me _!_ \-- and all he wanted was to kiss Tony breathless, to have Tony’s body under his hands--

Makeouts and dogs didn’t go together well. “Lucky, get in the bed,” Bucky said, dropping the tailgate. The dog jumped up neatly, and Bucky tucked his leash around the toolkit so he wouldn’t get it into his head to go wandering.

Dog secured, Bucky opened the smaller passenger door. “Back seat?” he said, trying to make it a suggestion rather than an order. “I am... stupidly turned on right now and I want to kiss the hell out of you for a few minutes.” He smiled at Tony, trying to convey something like seductive charm, but it was hard when the only thing he could think was... _ngggh_.  

It seemed to work well enough for Tony, at least. “Well, thank god,” he said, climbing into the truck. He dropped onto the back seat and turned to face Bucky with a grin. “I was afraid I was the only one.”

Bucky didn’t say anything; he literally couldn’t think about anything other than the picture Tony made, sprawled out in the backseat of his truck like an offering. He ran one hand up Tony’s thigh as he climbed in, rocking himself down into the cradle of Tony’s legs. He pressed up against Tony’s body, lined them up, then took possession of Tony’s mouth, god, _god_.

It shouldn’t have been so hot, what Tony had said. It was barely a declaration of fondness, not some romcom declaration of commitment, and Bucky _really_ needed to stop putting the cart so far in front of the horse, but God, he was… touched. Moved.

And he wanted to _touch_. And _move_. He settled for kissing, hands roaming, and if he was hard and aching, he didn’t care.

And god, the noises Tony made, soft moans and gasps that Bucky swallowed hungrily. Tony’s hands slid over Bucky’s arms and shoulders and back, not quite able to reach anything else, but desperate for what he could get. He dragged Bucky’s shirt up to slide his hand under it, and his touch was like fire, like lightning, on Bucky’s skin. Tony’s head fell back as he gasped for breath, making an offering of his throat.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Bucky said, feathering kisses along Tony’s jaw and neck, pulling the collar of Tony’s shirt aside to mouth at his shoulder. “If it wasn’t middle of the goddamn day, I’d be beggin’ you to let me… I want to taste you, want… want to touch every inch of you. I… I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m a beast, I want too much. But, God, _damn_ , look at you.”

Tony laughed, ragged, halfway to a sob. “You think I don’t want?” he demanded. “Jesus, have you even _seen_ yourself?” He dragged in a handful of harsh breaths. “Fuck. I’m gonna be hard all the way through dinner, and I don’t even care.”

“How are you even real?” Bucky whined, not able to resist the delicious friction, rutting against Tony’s thigh, desperate to relieve the pressure, even though he was only making it worse. He couldn’t believe the things Tony let him do, right out in daylight where anyone could walk by and see them, that Tony kept letting him touch and tease and not actually give either of them relief. God, Bucky was being a fucking cocktease and it wasn’t fair to Tony. He needed to keep his goddamn hands to himself, but Tony was… god, Tony was so sweet, and… he stole another kiss, flicking his tongue over the top of Tony’s mouth, along Tony’s upper lip. He was gonna cream his jeans like a teenager, if he kept doing this.

But it was so fucking addictive. Tony groaned and rocked up against Bucky’s body, sucked Bucky’s tongue into his mouth, clenched his hands restlessly in Bucky’s shirt. He whined, and then he hissed. “Oh shit, stop-- stop stop stop--”

Jesus. Jesus _Christ_ on a fucking _cracker_. Bucky pulled back, quick as he could, trying not to rub against Tony any more than he had to. “God, I’m sorry, sorry,” Bucky said, gasping for air.

Tony grabbed at the shoulder of Bucky’s shirt before he could get too far. “No, it’s, you’re fine, you’re _amazing_ , I’m just--”

“Gonna jizz in my pants,” Bucky said, pressing his hand to his chest, his heart racing in his throat, in his wrists, vision spotting and swimming.

“Yeah, shit, sorry--” Tony ground his fist into his groin, _hard_ , hard enough to be painful, trying to bring himself down. “Shitfuck. Sorry,” he panted. “I just. I only have the two pairs of jeans, and I just threw the others in the damn washer before lunch.”

It wasn’t funny, god, it _wasn’t_ funny, but if he didn’t laugh, he was gonna cry. Or he was gonna pounce on Tony again, jeans be damned. Which wasn’t fair to Tony, not even a little bit. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky said again as the giggles bubbled out of his throat. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m not, I swear on my ma’s grave, but… damn, we are a _tragedy_.”

Tony was giggling now, too, hand over his face like he didn’t quite dare look at Bucky. “Quite the pair, we are,” he agreed.

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky said, pushing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m gonna have to drive like this. A stick shift. _Holy Christ_.”

“I’ll shift _your_ stick,” Tony said, barely intelligible as he burst into a fresh spate of slightly hysterical giggles.

_God, I love you._ Bucky bit down so hard before he said it that he nearly took the tip of his tongue off. _What the fuck?_ He forced himself to breathe. “Drive. I need to drive.” Two breaths, three. “God. Get the dog in the truck, babe, will you? Jesus. Holy _shit_ , I am gonna last all of twenty seconds when I actually get your pants off.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick explanation for anyone who might have been confused by the "wood for sheep" joke -- the game Settlers of Catan is a board game in which you have to collect resources to accomplish goals, and which allows players to trade with each other. One of the resources is wood -- which tends to lead to a lot of joking about someone having _wood_.


	23. Chapter 23

As much of a hassle as it was to never be able to sleep in, Tony actually appreciated having to get up and walk the dog every morning. He could just open the door and let Lucky out -- that early, there weren’t many tourists around, and the locals all knew Lucky. But the walks warmed and stretched muscles that were sore from the previous night’s work, and more importantly, they got him out of the claustrophobic apartment.

There were plenty of smaller places in Manhattan -- there were people who rented out literal closets for twelve hundred a month. Hell, his apartment with Ty hadn’t been a _lot_ bigger, but it had been a nice place. They’d worked hard to spruce it up, and taken advantage of the shape of the space to make it seem bigger than it was. Tony had even hand-built some of the cabinets and shelving. He couldn’t afford to do that here, though, and even if it was finally free of Clint’s clutter, it was really just... not up to par. He hated to be ungrateful -- it made him feel guilty and small and ashamed -- so he never said anything about it. But at the same time, any excuse to get out was a good excuse.

So: the walks. Twice a day, he and Lucky walked halfway down the beach and back, rain or shine. (It was more shine than rain, and wow, Bucky had not been kidding about the heat, because they weren’t even to the end of June and the early mornings were already in the mid-eighties, and the less said about the afternoons, the better.)

Now that they’d figured out that Tony was a resident and not a timeshare tourist, the locals were… _friendly_. It had been unnerving at first; Tony being used to New York, where people didn’t even make eye contact outside of social situations, much less strike up conversations with random passers-by. But now that he’d been here a while, gotten used to it, he didn’t mind it so much. Especially when they would wave, or even stop him to exchange greetings and gossip. Sometimes they’d ask him to pass messages on to Bucky (as if cell phones weren’t a thing, even if Tony himself still didn’t have one). It was nice. Normal. For Sandbridge.

The tourists were like tourists everywhere, Tony supposed. He recognized his own initial shell-shocked expressions on people with northern accents, and the same loud, boorish, pushy photographing-every-memory and nature-defilers and “I’m on vacation, I must complain about everything”-ists and “what are manners”-ers that occupied every corner of the country. It wasn’t like those were a rarity in New York, after all.

It was just that New York, while being a very popular tourist destination, was very very full of people who were _not_ tourists. Sandbridge... not so much. Bucky had told him that, now that all the schools had let out, the townlet’s population would hover at around 80% tourists until September.

So Tony’s theory was that the locals banded together for “dear god please don’t let me strangle this idiot who can’t figure out why we don’t have both sunrises _and_ sunsets over the ocean” mutual support. Comparing dumb-tourist stories was a solid staple of local conversation, and some of them were pretty hilarious.

When the woman who ran the flower shop waved him over one morning, Tony wandered over willingly enough. Tourists didn’t buy a lot of flowers, but some of the fancier restaurants apparently had little vases of them on the tables, which was the main source of her business, supplemented with the occasional wedding.

Dockside wasn’t the kind of place that had flowers on the table, but Tony had run into her a few times when he’d stopped at the post office for Bucky’s mail; apparently they kept similar errand schedules. “You're getting quite tan,” she said, squinting up at his face. It wasn't the first time she'd made a comment about his face. She did seem to keep checking if his black eye had spontaneously regenerated, even though it had been healed for weeks.

“Seems inevitable,” he agreed. “Going to be hot again today.” Bitching about the weather was, he’d learned, not merely a staple component of conversation, but an obligatory one. It made him slightly crazy, since talking about it just made it seem worse, so he tried to get through it as quickly as possible.

“Allus is,” she said. And then, rather than delving into the next week’s forecast, she hesitated, glancing at him sidelong. “Barnes treatin’ you okay, young man?” There was a certain weight to her question and her expression took on a certain sly eagerness that Tony didn’t like.

Tony tried to suppress the blush that started up on his neck, and prayed that the morning sun reflecting off the water behind him would make it hard for her to see finer details. _Not appropriate_ , he scolded himself. Especially since what she _probably_ meant was to check up and make sure The Local Gay wasn’t making advances on The Innocent Newcomer.

He’d been warned that the level of homophobia around here was not what he was used to -- not that New York was free of bigots, but they were usually a lot more forward about it, not this sly false concern. It had taken Tony a few encounters to get the hang of it. Even the people who thought they were being open-minded and supportive made offensive jokes -- like Harry-Rex at the hardware store, that first day.

Arguing just convinced them that they were right, though, so Tony stuck to absolutely refusing to give them any ammunition. “He’s been great,” Tony said, as enthusiastically as he could. “Very helpful and generous.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” she said, nodding her head. “It’s good that he can make such a change, turn his life around. Better for him. Better for everyone. That other boy, poor thing… It’s good of you, to bring a positive change.”

Other boy? Tony had to blink at her in confusion for a moment. “You mean Clint?” he asked. “The guy I replaced?” Lucky whined at Clint’s name, and Tony absently patted his side.

“Well, he wasn’t the first one,” she said, sadly. “First one was a few years back, the one they arrested Barnes about. I’m not one to gossip, but Barnes has a temper, ‘specially when he’s been drinking. Broke that boy’s arm, bad, put him out of work for months. And it might’ve been worse if the cops hadn’t intervened. And then, poor Clinton, always wearing bandages and limping around all the time. Winifred, she would have been very shocked, I’m sure. Some boys just go a bit crazy, without their mothers to keep them in line. Maybe he’s past it, now. But you keep it in mind, y’hear? Don’t let him get ‘hold of you.”

Something cold settled into the pit of Tony’s stomach. _Don’t jump to conclusions_ , he told himself. _People like to gossip_. That was true. That was solid advice. But it wasn’t louder than the alarm bells and the shrieking _NEVER AGAIN_ and the throb of phantom pain in his face and long-healed arm.

He swallowed, hard. Lucky pressed hard against his leg, tail drooping in distress, as if he could sense Tony’s imminent panic. He leaned over, carefully, to scratch Lucky’s ears, giving himself time to think, to plan his words.

“Bucky’s never been anything but kind to me,” Tony managed. And that was true, it wasn’t even a stretch of the truth.

Of course, so had Ty, for a while, until his true colors had begun to show.

And he couldn’t quite banish the memory of Bucky hitting the Dockside wall so hard he’d bled, after the fire disaster. Extenuating circumstances, he told himself -- but Ty had always had an excuse, too, some particular frustration that had just driven him over the edge.

And there had been a moment during their date, too, when the things Bucky had said had sounded just a little too familiar. Possessive. Controlling. “ _...behave, or I ain’t bringin’ him around..._ ”

No. _No_. Bucky had... had fixed that, had explained, he hadn’t meant it like that. He’d just been teasing. (Ty had always had an explanation, too; why did Tony have to be so _sensitive_ , and then suddenly it was _Tony_ scrambling to make _Ty_ feel better, promising they didn’t have to go out, that he could cancel his plans and it would be just the two of them...)

_No_. Bucky _wanted_ Tony to meet his friends, to make new friends of his own, was happy for Tony to have a social life. Bucky _wasn’t like Ty_. Bucky wasn’t going to isolate Tony, make him believe he was worthless, _hit him_.

He _wasn’t_.

“Well,” Tony said, and it felt like someone else was saying it, that the words were just coming out of Tony’s mouth like he was a radio tuned to some distant station. “I’d better get along. Want to get back before it really starts to get hot.”

“You take care of yourself, now,” she said, turning back to her floral arrangements.

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Tony said. And he meant it. He was never, _ever_ going to let anyone control or hit him again. He had to figure this out.

***

 

> SANDBRIDGE, V.A. (AP) — Restaurant employee accused of assaulting a co-worker.
> 
> Media outlets report that 22-year-old James B. Barnes was charged Monday with two counts of assault on a person, one count of malicious wounding, and one count of attempted sexual assault. Barnes is employed as a cook and dishwasher at a local eatery.
> 
> According to an arrest warrant from city police, Barnes is accused of striking 26-year-old Brock Rumlow, a contract carpenter, causing "a laceration to his lower ear and bleeding" and twisted the victim’s arm with enough force to break bones.
> 
> Restaurant records show Rumlow was also employed at the same eatery, part of an extended contract for rebuilding and repairs.
> 
> It is unclear if Barnes has an attorney.
> 
> Copyright 2013 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.

Tony stared at the newspaper archive on the tablet, willing the words to change. Begging them to.

They didn’t.

He should have known better. He _should have known_. Oh, god. What was he going to do?

The tablet buzzed under his fingers -- the 10-minute “time for work” warning. He had to show up for work, or they would know something was wrong, and he needed more time to plan. He couldn’t get anywhere useful in ten minutes.

Work was safe, though. Work had Nat and Steve and sometimes Sam or Sharon or Wanda, and nothing would happen to him with other people around, watching. Even his father had never hurt him when other people were watching, and his father had been more vicious by far than even Ty.

And Bucky wasn’t too demonstrative during work hours. Light touches, the occasional kiss on the cheek. Nothing Tony couldn’t endure for one more night.

He closed his eyes, tight, and wished he could turn back time. He’d been so, so _happy_ \--

No. That wasn’t for him. One more day of work, and he’d plan his escape, run again.

He hadn’t had to pretend to be happy for months, but he hadn’t forgotten how. He made his way into the kitchen, put on his apron, and went to work.

Bucky came in, kissed his cheek. God, Bucky’s smile was so genuine. Tony wanted to trust it, but he didn’t dare. He smiled back, teased, flicked soapy water. Bucky left, went out to talk to customers, and Tony waited until Steve had turned back to the grill to let his shoulders sag in relief.

A warm hand on his shoulder, small. “Antonishka? Are you all right?”

“Always,” he responded quickly, but he was aware of her gaze on him, doubting. Nat was... hard to fool.

She was his friend. “ _...my best friend..._ ” She might help him--

No. He’d taken enough from her. And she had been Bucky’s friend first; she would try to defend him. Might even stop Tony from leaving.

He smiled for her: tired. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” he told her. “I’ll be okay.”

She squeezed his shoulder, firm, comforting. “You tell us if you need to go, okay? We can cover for you for a night.”

God, he was going to miss Nat _so much_. “Yeah, I will. But it’ll be okay.”

The dinner rush ran late, and Tony really was tired. Bucky brushed a hand across his back, and Tony couldn’t suppress a shiver. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Fine.” Tony summoned a smile. Almost over. It was almost over.

“You sure?”

“Bit of a headache,” Tony lied. “Didn’t sleep great last night.”

Bucky ducked his head, smiled. “Yeah, I might’ve had some things on my mind last night, too.”

Tony caught that shiver before it vibrated out of him. “Might turn in early tonight,” he said. Apologetic. “Sorry.”

“No, hey, you need to take care of yourself. Anything I can do?” God, he was so concerned. Tony could have fallen in love with him so easily. Had already been well on the way.

“No, I think I just need to rest.”

“Okay.” Bucky kissed his forehead. “Let me know if I can help.”

_Just stay away._ “I will.”

Closing. Finally. He skipped cleanup, pleading headache and exhaustion, and trudged up to the apartment, feeling Nat’s eyes on his back.

He walked Lucky. Avoided the florist, even though it had been closed for hours. He should probably be grateful to her for the warning, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself.

Lucky was clingy. He could tell Tony wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t lie to Lucky, but he didn’t have to. Back in the apartment, he sat on the floor and hugged the dog, burying his face in the soft, fluffy fur, and cried.

He packed his clothes and toiletries, a few of the small trinkets. He had more money than when he’d left New York; that was good. He hid it in every nook of the backpack and his clothes he could think of, to minimize the damage a pickpocket could do.

He left the books and the tablet, wrapped up in the “Somebody in Virginia Beach Loves Me” t-shirt. And then he waited.

3AM. Everything was quiet. Everyone was asleep.

Aching, Tony stood up and pulled on the backpack.

Lucky lifted his head, jingle of the collar loud in the quiet. “Lay down,” Tony told him. “Go to sleep.”

Lucky whined, softly, but did as he was told. Good dog.

Tony left the apartment key on the table by the door. He didn’t let himself look back. He didn’t think he had that much strength. Carefully, silently, he crept down the stairs, past the restaurant to the road.

Ten miles to town.

He started walking.

[ ](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/post/162127113368/)

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WR3RabDRYQk45SUE)


	24. Chapter 24

The sky was pink and gold and the humidity already unbearable when Tony saw Harry-Rex’s hardware store. There was a city bus stop only a few blocks further down, and that would take him to the Greyhound station. It was almost over. Tony resolutely did not think about the last few weeks, how happy he’d been. How he’d been part of a family. How much he loved-- No.

He gritted his teeth. He was _not_ thinking about that. He was thinking about how much his feet hurt. He was thinking about where the hell he was going to go from here. He was thinking about not letting that oncoming jogger run him over. He was thinking about giving up and going back to New York and letting Ty and his father fight over his scraps.

He was thinking… how familiar that jogger looked. Blond and fit and running as if something was chasing him. Headphones in his ears, sunglasses wrapped around his face. Big chest. Huge arms. Almost like--

The jogger came to an abrupt halt, mouth hanging open. “Tony?”

Of course. Tony closed his eyes. God, he was tired. “Steve.”

Steve ripped the headphones out of his ears with a swipe of one hand, took the shades off and pushed them onto his sweat-soaked hair. “Are… is everyone… you look _terrible_. Are you all right?”

 _No_. Tony sighed. “It’s okay, Steve, you can just... finish your run.”

Steve blinked. “You’re running. Again. What _happened_?”

“I can’t stay. Don’t...” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Tell Nat it’s not her fault.”

“Look,” Steve said, wiping sweat off his face. “Come with me, for a bit. I’ll buy you a juice, and you tell me why you’re leaving. And then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I’ll borrow Nat’s car-- Wait, she’ll be on her way to work by now. I’ll... I’ll call a cab and take you to the airport, if you want. Buy you a ticket. Just tell me what’s _happened_.”

He wanted to say no. A clean break would be better. But he’d been walking for hours already, and he was tired and thirsty, and... And Steve and Nat, they deserved the truth. He nodded, not looking at Steve’s face. “Okay. Fine.”

Steve started to reach out a hand, drew it back. “It’s not far, just around the corner,” he said. “Did you walk all the way out here? Lord, you’re relentless. Come on. You need to hydrate.” Steve reached into the (ugh) fanny pack he was wearing and pulled out a silver pouch about twice the size of a ketchup packet. “Here.”

Tony peered at the words on the packet and tried to make them make sense together. Chocolate. Caffeinated. Caloric. Gel. A couple of days ago, Tony would have mocked Steve ruthlessly for having such a thing, and everyone would have laughed. But it was fuel. He would need that. He ripped the top off and squeezed it into his mouth. It tasted like cake frosting. Sort of. Hard to swallow, with his mouth so dry, but he managed to work it down. The sugar and caffeine hit was almost immediate, like a buzz under his skin. _Don’t be ungrateful_. “Thanks.”

Steve guided him to a little hipster place that sold overpriced, over-sugared protein powder and fruit-juice smoothies that probably had more calories than most people needed in a day. “Sit here. Please don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” That was nice. Tony didn’t want to talk to anyone new, didn’t want to go through the motions of ordering anything, have to make small talk with the cashier.

He waited, tracing the abstract print pattern on the tabletop with one finger. He could just see Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve turned to look at him every thirty seconds or so. Making sure he wasn’t running.

But Steve didn’t take out his phone, wasn’t frantically texting Nat ( _or Bucky_ ) to come get them. Wasn’t ratting Tony out.

Steve came back with two medium sized cups, already beading condensation. “Blueberry peach,” Steve said, setting it on the table in front of him. “With an energy shot. You look like you need it.”

Tony nodded, dragged the cup a little closer, and took a sip from the straw. It was tart against the lingering taste of the chocolate gel, and then very very sweet. But it was cold and wet, and felt good, sliding down his throat. “Thanks,” he said again. Less hoarse that time.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Steve took a long swig of his own drink and grimaced. “So… what’s got you so shook?”

Tony closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this if he had to watch Steve’s reaction. He rubbed his thumb along the side of the cup, wiping away the condensation, reminding himself that he was here. “...Little history,” he said. It took him a minute to force the words out, but Steve didn’t say anything, just waited. “My dad beat me.” It sounded so dry, so clinical, for something that had been so terrifying and painful. “Pretty bad, sometimes. Broke my arm twice that I can remember.” He paused, took a sip of his terrible smoothie to wash that bitter taste out of his mouth.

Steve’s voice was soft enough not to break his concentration, just a whisper. “ _Lord_.”

“I was sixteen when I went to college. Certified genius. Dad never hit me in the head. When I was seventeen, almost at the end of my second year, I met Ty. Tiberius Stone.” He hadn’t said, or even thought, the full name in ages. Ty was always just... Ty.

“Ty was twenty, I think. Maybe twenty-one. He was _beautiful_. Looked a lot like you, actually.” Tony’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Not quite as broad, but... Blond. Fit. Tall. I fell in... I thought it was love.

“He took care of me, best he could. Hated my dad. _Hated_ him. More than me, I think. We’d been together for... four, five weeks, I guess, when he talked me into running away. Emancipated Minor status -- well, not legally, because Dad had... pull. But Ty took pictures of the bruises, and blackmailed him, I think.” Tony shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Dad let me go. I dropped out of school, moved in with Ty.”

“You were a kid.” Steve’s mouth twisted. “A _child_.”

Tony shrugged, not able to deny it. “Yeah... You remember being seventeen though, right? So certain that there was no more the world could teach you. That you were ready to be an adult. You can’t tell a seventeen-year-old anything.” He stirred his drink with the straw. “I was a minor right at first, though. So Ty took care of everything. Lease, money, all of it. And it was okay, because he took care of me.”

“Like a pet.” That came out very ugly.

“Yeah,” Tony said. It came out on a sigh. “Didn’t realize it at the time, though. He talked about... we were going to save up and then I could go back to school. Stringing me along. Petty and jealous, too. Hated it if I went anywhere without him. I stopped trying, because it was easier than arguing with him about it. He walked me to work. Didn’t even want me working, except we needed the extra income. But he was trying to figure out a way around that.”

“Jesus Christ. _Tony_.” Steve held out his hand, letting Tony choose if he wanted to take it or not.

“Was with him for six, seven years. Didn’t realize what he was doing. Some genius, huh?” Tony scoffed. He stared at Steve’s hand on the table, and _wanted_ to take it, but couldn’t, quite, make himself move toward it. “Then he slipped up. Got mad enough to forget himself. Hit me.” Tony gestured to the side of his face where he’d been bruised when he’d arrived. “After Dad, I’d sworn -- Never again. Not _ever_.” He met Steve’s eyes and let his anger show. “ _Never_.”

“I’m going to dye my hair blue at the earliest opportunity,” Steve said, very serious. “God, what a horrible thing to go through. I _know_ ; my dad... Well, at least he left when I was still little. But I can imagine how strong you’d have to be, to face that alone, and to leave. With _nothing_. We all know, we all saw, how little you had.”

Steve’s sympathy wasn’t helping his need to leave. Tony fiddled with the straw, not drinking. “So you can imagine,” he said, hoarse again, “what went through my mind when I found out that--” Christ, he couldn’t even say the name. It hurt too much. “He’s got a violent streak. Broke that guy’s arm, at least, maybe more. I can’t... I can’t allow that.”

Steve jerked his hand back, teeth baring up in a sudden grimace. “Who told you about Rumlow?”

“Does it matter? I know how people gossip here, but I checked the archives at the newspaper, and it’s right there, black and white.”

“Black and white and _not_ the whole story,” Steve said, carefully. “I want you to understand that I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at the _situation_. You can get up and walk away right now, if you feel you need to. Or I’ll take you to the airport, buy you a ticket, anywhere you want to go. I’d like you to let me explain. Will you listen?”

What the hell kind of explanation could make that all right? But Steve was a good guy, Nat had been a good friend. They deserved to think they’d tried their best. And he was so _tired_. “I’ll listen.”

“Little history,” Steve said, and it wasn’t mocking or cruel, just repeating Tony’s words. “I can’t even say they were lovers, there was nothing like love there. Brock’s not capable of that. But he and Bucky, they fucked, sometimes. Hit the bars. Bucky was wilder, especially after Winifred passed away. They wingmanned for each other, and if they didn’t have any luck, they’d screw each other. Brock worked for Bucky’s dad. Hurricane tore the whole deck off Dockside. Brock helped replace it.”

Steve cleared his throat. “After… after everything was over, I had to talk Bucky out of tearing up the whole thing. He couldn’t bear standing there, knowing that… I’m getting ahead of myself.

“At the same time, there was this kid, this scrawny little… Kurt Wagner. Gay as a maypole, but not _out_. Not to his parents; who were the worst kind of born-again bigots. Kurt was… fifteen? Maybe? Had a crush on Bucky the size of a Cadillac. Used to follow them around. Bucky got him a fake ID, so Kurt could hit the bars with them. He tell you he used to like to sing karaoke?”

 _Aaaand we’re back to dork.._. “Yeah.”

“They go in one night, and Bucky’s singing. He gets done, and Kurt and Brock are gone. Bucky wasn’t worried, thought they’d… gone to have a smoke or something. They didn’t come back. So he went out looking for them.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, considering his words carefully.

“The papers know what they could find evidence for. Kurt was terrified of his parents. It wasn’t his fault, but he was more scared of them than… well. Brock was in the process of… he…” Steve swallowed hard. “Brock Rumlow raped that fifteen-year-old boy in a filthy alley.”

Tony shuddered, couldn’t even think of words.

“Bucky pulled him off, made him stop what he was doing. Broke his arm. Punched him in the head a few times. Lost control. Kurt ran away, scared his parents would find out. Refused to testify. Lied to the police, got one of his friends to back him up. No other witnesses. Brock was the one bleeding. He never got a hand on Bucky. Told the police that Bucky attacked him, tried to… turned it all around. Bucky… well, he and I got up to some stupid shit when we were younger, and that was held against him. Bucky’s lawyer convinced him to plead it down to assault. A non-felony charge. He spent sixty days in jail and two years on probation.”

Tony pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars behind his eyelids. “It was defense,” he breathed. “He didn’t--” He dropped his hands, peering at Steve with mingled hope and doubt. “You’re so sure... But he’s your best friend. If he lied to _you_...”

“I would have believed Bucky no matter what,” Steve said. “But as it happens… the friend Kurt asked to back him up? Is Wanda’s brother, Peter. Peter had… call it a nervous breakdown, after the sentencing. Tried to come clean, but the prosecutor threatened him with perjury. The conviction looked good on the record, as it was. Bucky’s dad didn’t have money for a lawyer for a retrial, still paying off all Winifred’s hospital bills.

“Peter will tell you, if you ask him about it. He’s… god, Peter’s fucked up about it. Felt terrible. Bucky’s tried to tell him that he understands, but it was still hard, all the way around. I know, it’s still circumstantial. I understand how you -- how it looks. And a lot of the locals, they… well, there’s a lot of homophobia. Even the ones who don’t think Bucky’s a bad guy, they think maybe he made too hard a pass at Brock, or something, and it got violent. There’s a lot of underlying dirt. Bucky lives with that, every day.”

“Let me guess,” Tony said. “Brock conveniently turned up with a girlfriend shortly after the arrest. Certainly during the investigation. Someone who fawned over his injuries and made a lot of noise and above all made him look less gay.” It’s how his father would’ve done it. _Controlling the spin_ , Dad had called it.

Steve’s bitter smile said a lot. “You… that’s why I was weird, when you first showed up. It’d been years since Bucky… you should have seen. Not that you would have known what you were looking at, but it was the first time I’d seen him show interest in anyone who wasn’t Pierce. I was worried it was… You were so helpless and lost. I thought… Nevermind what I thought. I was wrong.”

“You thought I was a plant, a con.”

Steve nodded. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. If I had a friend, like you two are friends, I’d want to protect the hell out of them, too.” Tony poked at his drink.

Steve coughed, a little uncomfortably. “You _do_ , Tony. You have at least two friends who’d like to protect the hell out of you. You held up your end of the bargain. Where do you want me to take you?”

“Steve, I--” His vision blurred. “God, I fucked up, didn’t I? How the hell do I apologize for _this_? How do I tell him I thought I had to run from him without breaking his heart?”

“You know that we all knew about this, right? I mean, not the specifics, but… Nat put some of it together, and she told the rest of us, because you were so scared, and we wanted to help you, but we didn’t want to scare you more, or… The point I’m trying to make -- badly, I admit -- is that Bucky knows you’ve had a hard time of it. Yeah, he’s gonna be upset. But he’ll understand, he’ll get over it. He loves you.”

Of _course_ Nat had figured it out. Of _course_ she’d told them. And suddenly Bucky’s wildly cautious lines of consent made sense. His determined reminders about _Tony’s_ choices and freedom. God, Bucky had been trying _so fucking hard_ to avoid tripping over Tony’s landmines, and he didn’t even have a _map_. It was--

Tony’s whole brain stuttered to a halt as it finished processing Steve’s words. No, no, that wasn’t possible, they’d only known each other for a couple of months, and _Tony_ was the one who’d gotten wildly attached far too quickly. He took a breath, and tried to give Steve a hard glare. He didn’t think he was very successful, but he tried. “This is enough of a mess without you getting melodramatic about it.”

Steve did not appear melodramatic. He looked tired, lines in his face showing the strain. With messy hair and his sunglasses askew on top of his head. “What?”

“You can’t just try to tell me that he loves me to make me stop panicking about feeling guilty! That’s. That’s not helpful at all.”

“I can see that,” Steve said. “It’s certainly not _working_. As it happens, getting people to do and feel what I think they ought to is not my skill. I leave that to my extremely horrible girlfriend. I’m just telling you what I see.”

“Fiancée,” Tony corrected automatically.

“Oh, no,” Steve said. “I’m told I’m unworthy because I didn’t notice that Liho puked in the bathroom and clean it up before Nat stepped in it, barefoot. I’m relegated back to fuckbuddy, until I provide her with wine, chocolate, and orgasms.”

Something warm, like a memory of laughter, unfurled in his chest. “And you’ve been sitting here talking to _me_? Buddy, you may need to reconsider your priorities.”

Steve shrugged. “So I’ll have to work extra hard on the orgasms, later. Yeah, like that’s a hardship. Have you _seen_ Nat? I mean… hnnnnnngh, that woman.”

Tony sighed, deep and heartfelt. “Seriously, you all have to stop trying to get me to think about Nat naked. It’s not good for my health.”

“Better than Bucky thinking about me, naked. Oh, that was _awkward_ , back in the day,” Steve said. “But, seriously. Airport? Train station? Or... home?”

The sun was up and the sky was already a deep blue that promised miserably hot and humid weather. The tourists were going to be insufferable. He took a breath and made his decision.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky was flipping hamburgers with one hand and trying to read the damn inventory report with the other. Thursdays weren’t busy for lunch, not usually, but Thursday was Steve’s half-day, so Bucky was filling two jobs.

When Nat came in, she had her t-shirt tied under her breasts, baring her midriff.

“It is extra miserable out there today,” she said. “I hate this place. I want to go home.”

“There’s ice cream in the freezer,” Bucky said, waving the spatula absently. And getting grease on the wall, because of course he needed more work today. Sigh. “Can you go check on Tony? He hasn’t come down yet. He said he had a headache last night, but I didn’t think... If he’s sick, tell him to sleep in, and I’ll see if Sharon needs a few hours. But I’m in the weeds here.”

Nat messed up his hair on the way to the freezer, where she grabbed a pint container of coffee-crunch. “Maybe I’ll stay. For another few days. Until the ice cream runs out.”

“I’ll stock more,” Bucky promised.

Nat snagged a spoon from the drying rack and was already making headway on the ice cream as she headed out the back door. (Honestly, that woman did not understand the concept of breakfast. Breakfast was not _ice cream._ It was also not beet soup. Or raw oysters. Or, on one particularly nauseating occasion, grilled eel.)

Bucky frowned at the inventory. He was sure he’d counted five cases of raw burger and six cases of mustard, but the sheet read the other way around. And hamburger cost a considerable amount more than mustard. He glared down at the sizzling meat, tapping his foot impatiently. Hopefully it was just a numbers error, but he couldn’t add up a column of numbers in his head, so he’d have to double check it, and then use scrap paper and a calculator to --

“What _did you do_?” Nat was suddenly _right there._ In his face, poking him in the chest with the spoon. _Hard_. Leaving bruises.

Bucky had thought he’d seen her angry before.

He was so, so _fucking_ wrong. “What the hell, Nat?” Bucky backed up, away from the grill, hands held up defensively.

“What did you do to Tony?”

“What? Nothing! I haven’t--” Panic stuttered. “What’s wrong?”

“He is running. His room is _empty_. He is _gone_. His things are gone! I told you! I told you, you have to be careful with him. You have to-- He’s gone. _What did you do_?”

What?

_What?_ “I --”

She brandished a tee shirt at him. “He would not have left this, if you had not done something! If it was the person who hit him, he would have _taken it with him_. He is running, and it is your fault. What was it?”

“I don’t know.” He hit the staff table and sat down, hard. “I… I don’t know.” He was numb. There was grief and rage and disbelief right on the horizon, there. A tidal wave of despair rushing toward him. But until it swept him away, he was just... hollow. “Nat, what… what do we do?”

“You… you can do _nothing_. If he is running from you, you cannot chase him. You’ll just make it worse. As it is, none of us can make him stay, if he feels unsafe. Would you want him to, like that? Like a caged animal? It is his right to make that choice.” Nat paced around and Bucky caught a glimpse of her face, tear-streaked and distraught.

Which triggered his own tears. God, he hadn’t wept, not truly, since his mother died: not when the judge had read his sentence, not any of the time he was in jail, and not even when his father had passed on. He’d been beyond tears by that point. Sometimes his throat got tight, or his nose burned, his eyelids prickled, but this… he couldn’t stop it. He wiped his cheeks but…

_What the hell had he done wrong?_

“He’d take the bus,” Bucky heard himself saying, as if from some impossible distance. “He doesn’t have ID, he can’t buy a plane ticket. Call Steve. Maybe Steve can --”

“You cannot chase him!” Nat stomped her foot at him. “I tell you this, already. You will make him fear you.”

“Steve. _Steve_ can talk to him, just… I can’t let him leave, not like this… Please, Nat. Please, I… ask Steve? Just… make sure Tony’s okay? Come on, Nat!”

Nat considered it, for so much longer than Bucky could bear it. More tears fell as she tapped her phone against her chin, then finally she sighed. “I will ask. Tony trusts Steve. It is hard won, they had much ground to recover, but… Steve can get close enough to talk with him. Just talk. I will not have him dragged back here like a runaway schoolboy.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said. He meant it. He just… needed to know that Tony was okay. _Safe_.

Nat pulled up her contact list and walked out to the dining room. She stopped in the door and pointed her finger at him. “ _You stay here_.”

Jesus, what sort of monster did Nat think he was?

What sort of monster did _Tony_ think he was?

_Oh, god._

He folded his arms on the table and buried his face in them, shuddering.

_Tony..._ What had Bucky _done?_

“God looks out for fools, lovers, and drunkards,” Nat said, some long moments later. She turned the grill off, scraping the slightly overcooked burgers into a pile. Making him wait. Still furious.

“What?”

“Steve has him,” Nat said. “He is safe and well. They are waiting for a cab, to pick them up.”

Thank god, thank _god_. “I can --”

“No, you can’t. You will stay here and let Tony make his decisions. Steve did not talk long, Tony is very upset, he says. Steve will take care of him,” Nat said. She took a deep breath. “Any other day and we would have missed this chance. Steve only runs a 10k on his off-mornings. Usually, he does five, along the boardwalk. He was running, when he found Tony.”

Bucky wiped his nose on his apron. “Thank you.”

Nat sighed. “You are pathetic. I do not like it. Perhaps I am hasty, upset. I love Tony, too.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “I know that, Nat.”

“I am sorry for stabbing you with the ice cream spoon.”

Bucky inhaled, then, suddenly realizing she hadn’t come back with the container. And even Nat didn’t eat ice cream _that_ quickly. “I’m more concerned about where the _ice cream_ is now.”

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Nat bounced to her feet. “I left it in the apartment.”

Bucky groaned. “Oh, god. Lucky!” Lucky was not good with ice cream. It gave him gas at best, and vomiting at worst. Not quite as bad as that time he’d gotten into chocolate, but… Bucky followed Nat outside and up to Tony’s apartment.

Looking around the empty apartment was like having his heart carved out. It might have been less painful if Nat _had_ stabbed him to death with the spoon.

Lucky apparently shared the same sense of abandonment. He hadn’t eaten the ice cream. He was flopped on top of Tony’s bed, his head buried under the pillow, and refused to move. When Bucky called him, he just whined plaintively. Bucky wandered around the small space. The plant Nat had given Tony was full, leaning a bit toward the small window. Absently, Bucky turned it. Checked the soil for moisture. Tony had watered it recently.

Picked up the books that Tony had left behind. Only one of them had been read, a bookmark was three-quarters of the way through. Lifted the tablet, which flickered and came on. Bucky glanced at the screen.

_SANDBRIDGE, V.A. (AP) — Restaurant employee accused of assaulting a co-worker._

The tablet fell from numbed fingers.

Bucky staggered backward. He couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t. He stumbled down the stairs, fell into the sand. Managed to push himself up enough to vomit into the grass.

Scrambled backward until he was pressed up against one of the wooden pillars. “Oh, Jesus fuck, how is this… how is Rumlow still _fucking up my life?_ ” Bucky wanted to hit something. Wanted to break something.

Nat sat down gingerly on the steps, the tablet in her hand. “This… this is not so bad, medvezhonok.”

“If he’s seen that, then Tony has _every reason_ to be scared of me, Nat.” Bucky couldn’t bear it. He would never think that Rumlow hadn’t deserved what Bucky had done, but at the same time, when he dreamed of it, he didn’t dream of prison, or of what had happened to Kurt Wagner. He dreamed of how Rumlow’s arm had snapped under his hand. The sound of his fists against Rumlow’s face. He’d never known he had so much rage inside. And once he knew it, he could never forget it.

“No, no,” Nat said. “What you did, you did to help someone. Steve knows this, he knows the truth. He will explain it. Tony… Tony will _understand_.” She pushed the melted ice cream at him, along with the spoon.

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it, so he took a spoonful. It was gooey, dripping off the spoon like syrup. Still sweet. Still cool against his abused throat. Tasted better than his hastily recycled breakfast. Maybe Nat wasn’t completely ridiculous.

A car pulled into the lot.

“Close up, Nat. Say we’ve had a freezer problem. Something. I can’t… I can’t…”

Lucky bounced down the stairs, ran Nat over before she could get up and knocked her to her knees in the sand. Barking madly the whole time, the dog tore across the parking lot to throw himself at…

_Tony_.

***

The closer they got, the more Tony's stomach tied itself in knots. God, he had fucked up so bad. Why hadn’t he just _asked?_ Whatever Steve said, Bucky was going to be so angry and disappointed. Dockside came into view, and Tony had to close his eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” Steve said. He’d been saying that, or something very like it, for a while, as if he believed repeating it would make it true.

The cab pulled to a stop. Time to face the music.

Tony opened the door and got out, and turned to pull his backpack out. Lucky was barking, and Tony turned, and--

“Oof!” --collapsed from the unexpected and slightly lopsided collision of excited dog. “Oh my god, get _off_ , you horrible thing.” Tony grabbed Lucky and hugged him, stupidly relieved to see him again. “You dumb mutt, what the hell, huh?” Lucky licked his face happily and Tony didn’t even try to push him off, just scrunched eyes and mouth shut and waited for it to be over.

“You.” Nat was there, looking down at him. “Get up.”

Tony climbed to his feet. “Nat, I...”

She brandished a tee shirt at him, the one he'd left behind. _Someone in Virginia Beach Loves Me_. Tony's throat closed. And then Nat hugged him so hard his ribs ached under the strain. “You… you…” Nat let him go, then stomped her foot. “I gave my ice cream to Bucky because of you.” And then she ran off, slamming the door to the restaurant behind her. Sobbing.

Tony winced. “I am going to owe her so. Much. Ice cream.”

“Yep,” Steve said from behind him. The cab was pulling away. “You can’t even make up the difference in orgasms.”

He could _feel_ Bucky, standing just off the parking lot, in the sand.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “Go get ‘im, tiger.” He followed in Nat’s wake, calling Lucky after him with promises of bacon.

Tony swallowed. Took a breath. Turned.

Bucky managed to push himself away from the pillar, took a few tentative steps in Tony’s direction. He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes, but his face was ravaged, eyes red and faint, sticky tracks marked his cheeks. “Hey.”

“Bucky.” It wasn’t even a whisper of breath. Tony sucked air into lungs that fought him, and tried again. “Bucky. I’m so, so sorry.”

Bucky stared at him. “What for?”

“I, I panicked.” Tony said. “I didn’t trust you, any of you. I should have, I should have asked. But I panicked and I couldn’t _think_ and all I could do was... run. And you didn’t deserve that, and I hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

“I should’ve trusted you with the truth sooner,” Bucky countered. “You shouldn’t have found out like that. The tablet, you… you left it on, I saw, and I… I’m sorry for that. I’m just so glad you’re okay. That you’re _safe_.”

Tony stepped toward him, drawn like a magnet. “That’s what Steve said, after Nat called. That you... wanted to know I was safe.” He stopped just out of arm’s reach, willing Bucky to hear the question he couldn’t figure out how to ask.

Bucky’s hands were stuffed in his pockets, his muscles corded with tension. “Yes,” Bucky said. “I... hoped you would come back, but if... If I made you feel unsafe, I’d understand why you had to go.” He bit his lip, already worried nearly to bleeding. “If you... If you decide that’s best for you. Safest. Then of course you have to go. But please, if you do, keep in touch with-- with Nat? We worry about you.”

Of course Bucky knew what he was asking. “I came back,” Tony pointed out. “Steve explained it all. I’m, I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay, that’s... That’s good,” Bucky said, pressing a hand against his chest and panting for breath like it was hurting. “You came back. You’re staying. I’m glad, I-- Tony, I don’t... Tell me what I can do. What you want. Please.”

Christ, he looked so frightened. Shaken and tossed and _hurt_ , but determined, not quite meeting Tony’s eyes. Half-braced for a blow and yet ready to fetch the moon out of the sky if that was what Tony wanted. And god, all Tony wanted was... “I’d like a hug,” Tony said. “To start.”

Bucky reached out for him, hand shaking, and pulled him in so, so carefully, like Tony was a baby bird, fragile and terrified. “Oh, God,” Bucky murmured in Tony’s ear, arms going around his back. “Oh, Tony, I thought… I thought… Nat said… oh, _god._ ”

And then Bucky was sobbing into Tony’s shoulder, shaking so hard he could barely stand.

“I know,” Tony murmured, clinging to Bucky just as tight. Holding Bucky up, and that was another gift Bucky had given him without even knowing it, relying on Tony’s strength, trusting it, rather than dismissing or ridiculing it. “I know, honey, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you more, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He drew in a shaking breath. “I, we should, I should tell you some things. When you’re ready.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay. I’m… Let’s… let’s get you moved back in. Lucky missed you like crazy,” Bucky said. He wiped his eyes. “And Nat stabbed me with a spoon. So, you know, it’s been a _horrible_ morning.”

Tony paused. “Why did Nat stab you with a spoon?”

“Um…” Bucky glanced at the closed door. “I’m not sure I could explain it right. Maybe she-- I don’t _know_. I have little bruises all over my chest! Women don’t make sense, don’t ask me!”

“Okay,” Tony said. He took Bucky’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Let’s just... go put my things away and--”

“Take _a nap,_ ” Bucky said.

That wasn’t what Tony had been planning to say, but the very word filled Tony with longing. “I’m not going to lie; a nap sounds _really_ good. I didn’t really sleep at all last night.” Tony glanced up at Bucky. “You’re... going to stay with me, right?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. You’re going to stay with me. My bed is bigger.”

The last of the ice in Tony’s chest thawed, and he nearly missed a step in relief. “Okay. Good idea. I like this plan. We’ll sleep. And then we’ll talk, or I will. And then, probably, I will have to go get All The Ice Cream for Nat or she’ll stab me, too.”

Bucky took Tony’s backpack and threw it into the tiny apartment. “There. Unpacked.” He tugged Tony across the walkway and into Bucky’s place, not quite able to look away. “You’re staying. I… didn’t lose you.” Bucky shut the door behind them and gently led him to Bucky’s bedroom. He stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed, waiting for Tony. “I’m going to sleep, and then I’m going to take a fucking mental health day.”

Tony stripped off his shirt and jeans and crawled onto the bed, nudging his way under the sheets until Bucky lifted them for him. “Yeah, that...” He slid up against Bucky’s side, pressing skin to skin and throwing his leg over Bucky’s. _I almost threw this away_ , and he had to stifle a sob. He wriggled until Bucky’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, and then he tucked his head into the hollow of Bucky’s shoulder, eyelids already drooping. _Staying. Not lost._ “That sounds great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian word that Nat uses there is a cutesy nickname, like calling someone "teddy bear" which I like to use when talking to Bucky (bear) because that's just funny.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Finally_. This chapter is 100% home-grown smut, skip it if that's not your thing! :D

Bucky woke to a glare of sunlight on his face, streaming in through the west-facing window in his bedroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun through that window. For a moment, still half-asleep, he pondered it, trying to recall how long it had been, and then the rest of his memory caught up with him. He reached out and found a warm shoulder.

They had started their nap twined together like hugging octopi, but at some point Tony had worked his way to the far side of the bed, leaving a little no-man’s land down the middle. Given how sticky and sweaty Bucky was, Tony really couldn’t be blamed for wanting to put some distance between them.

All the same, his skin ached for the sensation of Tony pressed against him, physical reassurance that Tony was still there. Bucky slid over, just a little. Just enough to let his legs brush against Tony’s thighs, enough to put one hand on Tony’s hip. Enough to ease the chattering remnants of panic in his brain, so he could snuggle back down into the pillow and watch Tony sleep.

Tony’s eyelashes were long enough to brush against his cheek, and his hair was tousled and tangled on the pillow. His mouth was relaxed and still in a way Bucky rarely saw when he was awake. That complicated goatee was shaded with two days’ stubble, giving him a slightly rougher appearance than normal, and Bucky considered it for a long moment, trying to decide if it was more attractive that way than Tony’s usual careful grooming. It was an impossible conundrum; it was all _Tony_ , and Bucky couldn’t object to a single thing about him, not now.

Bucky almost stretched out a finger to trace the line of Tony’s lip. He wanted to nudge Tony into wakefulness with kisses and caresses. There were a lot more things he wanted to do after that, too, and just thinking about them sent shivers straight down his spine. His blood pounded in his veins, stirring interest in his cock. Which was pointed in the wrong damn direction, _ow_. Bucky reached down the narrow space between them to adjust himself.

And then his hand was… down there. Less than two inches away from Tony’s dick, clad only in a pair of rather threadbare boxers.

“Bad,” he muttered to himself.

Tony frowned at the quiet sound, his nose scrunching. “Nn?” His eyelids squeezed tight, then opened suddenly, gaze darting around in confusion until it landed on Bucky. “Oh,” he breathed. “Was real.”

“Real as raindrops,” Bucky said. He squinched back a little bit. “I am totally not molesting you in your sleep. It just looks that way.” He tempered that with a quick, nervous grin. “You sleep okay, sweetheart? You looked worn to the bone.”

“Best sleep I’ve had in... maybe ever,” Tony said. He stretched, body pulling lean and tantalizing, then relaxed all at once.

Bucky had to work not to gape open-mouthed and start drooling. God, Tony was adorable and gorgeous and Bucky wanted to lick him from jaw to toes and back up. And he needed Tony to want that, too, needed to _know_ that Tony still wanted him. “Third.” His brain had jumped from one point to the next so fast he had to backtrack, trying to figure out where that particular conclusion had come from… Oh, right. “Third date.”

Tony grinned, apparently catching up to Bucky’s teleporting brain with no trouble. “That’s the tradition,” he agreed. “Nap counts as a date?”

“This _heathen_ bought you a frozen yogurt, the second day you were here, remember?” Bucky leaned a little closer, kissed Tony’s cheek. “And you took me to a baseball game.” He kissed the other cheek. “And then Cogan’s.” He ducked his chin a little and pressed a kiss to Tony’s mouth. “Three. So if… if moving to a more serious relationship is something you still want... I want.” Dear god, did he want.

Tony just gazed at him for a long moment, and for a second, Bucky was afraid Tony was going to point out that Cogan’s had been their first _official_ date and the other two didn’t count. Or even turn him down entirely.

And then Tony laughed, light and amused. “I should accuse you of cheating,” he said. “Because the yogurt, really? But since I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for _weeks_ , I’m going to let it slide. Just this once,” he added, mock-stern, and then he kissed Bucky gently, sliding his hand up Bucky’s side.

Bucky barely held back a groan of relief, and nuzzled at Tony’s mouth with soft, eager kisses. Letting his lips relearn the shapes of Tony’s mouth, the feel--

“Hold that thought,” Bucky said, grimacing. “I’ll be right back, promise.” He scrambled out of the bed for the bathroom. His skin was tacky with dried tears so he washed his face while he was in there. Rinsed out his mouth. Dug under the sink for the sample packets of lube he used to keep for barhopping, and a condom. Checked the dates. Okay, good. And then he was shaking so hard that he had to sit down on the lid of the toilet and breathe.

 _It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,_ he told himself. _He’s here, he’s staying. Everything’s fine. Now get back out there before you mess this up._

He ran a hand through his hair, then grabbed his supplies and went back into his bedroom. “Sorry, I wanted… I’ve had to make urgent runs for condoms before, didn’t want to… break off for that. We’ve had enough awkward interruptions, yeah?”

“Smart thinking,” Tony agreed. He was lounging across Bucky’s bed like something from one of Bucky’s wet dreams, Jesus _Christ_. “You found something, I guess, since you’re not already running for the nearest convenience store.”

Bucky tossed the two packets onto the bed and climbed back on. He slid under the sheets and pulled Tony into a close embrace, skin against skin, and said, very quiet and hot in Tony’s ear, “If I hadn’t found anything, I would’ve stroked you off, nice and slow, until you made a mess of my sheets, rather than leave you for _one more minute_. God, I want to touch and lick and tease you until you’re mad with it, and then let you find some relief. And then maybe, _maybe_ , I’ll be willing to get out of this bed. But I’m not taking my hands off you for a while.”

Tony’s eyes went dark. “Good.” He ducked his head to lick along the hollow of Bucky’s throat, and dragged his teeth across the skin. “I want to learn every little thing that drives you wild, put my mouth on you and drag you right up to the edge and _keep_ you there. Want to feel your hands on every inch of me. I want... _God_ , do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about this?”

“Nope,” Bucky said easily enough. “I only know how much _I’ve_ been thinking about it.” He slid one hand down Tony’s back, teased around the edge of his waistband until he found a spot on Tony’s hip that made him squirm and shiver. He claimed Tony’s mouth for a hot, long kiss, tasting his lips and sliding his tongue inside. He ended with a soft nip at Tony’s lower lip, tugging on it lightly. “Couldn’t _stop_ thinkin’ about it. About you. My own personal angel, fallen from Heaven to lead me into temptation. You beautiful, gorgeous, perfect… oh, _sweetheart_.”

Tony outright giggled. “Did you just call me a demon? It’s a little soon to get into roleplay, don’t you think?” He slipped his hand around Bucky’s neck, thumb brushing along Bucky’s jaw. “Besides,” he said in a softer tone, “you’re the one who saved me. My own personal hero.”

“I did _not_ call you a demon,” Bucky huffed, making a face. How was that fair? This was already everything he’d ever hoped for and better than he’d been able to imagine, and that little moment of teasing and laughter had rocked him right to the core, in the best way possible. He’d already known sex with Tony was going to be hot and intense; was it even remotely fair that it would be _fun_ , too?

His hand stroked down Tony’s back, over his hip, along his thigh. Tony’s skin was warm, supple and smooth and little zings of nerves were radiating up Bucky’s arm from the point of contact, all the way into his neck and prickling along his scalp. Too much and not enough. He tugged Tony’s leg up, pressing in until Tony’s leg was hooked over Bucky’s hip. He continued his caress, dragging his nails down Tony’s calf in a long, teasing line. “God, you’re tempting.”

Tony rolled his body against Bucky’s and groaned. “Give in, then,” he said, “give it to me.” He rocked into Bucky’s body again, the hard length of him pressing into Bucky’s abdomen, his heart pounding hard against Bucky’s chest.

Bucky shivered, moaning at the sweet friction. He cupped Tony’s ass, let his fingers slid up under the thin material of his shorts. They were tight enough that he got pinned in by the fabric, couldn’t touch, caress. With an impatient sigh, he tugged at them until they slipped off Tony’s hip. Graceless, heedless, Bucky worked them down until Tony could help him. “I want… want to look at you, baby; can I look at you?”

“Long’s I can look back,” Tony said, squirming to push his shorts off onto the floor and tug at Bucky’s at the same time. “You want to talk about _temptation_ , you wandering around in the mornings in nothing but your damn jeans, nnnngh.” He managed to work a hand down the back of Bucky’s shorts and squeezed Bucky’s ass.

Bucky flipped the blankets back, flooding them with cooler air. His skin rippled with gooseflesh and he gazed at Tony with something close to awe. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen most of Tony undressed before; a swimsuit wasn’t much to hide behind, and he was familiar with the shape of Tony’s shoulders and arms, the lean belly and long, trim legs. That didn’t make looking again any less pleasing. Then Bucky’s eyes were drawn to the parts he hadn’t seen before. Tony’s cock was gorgeous, dark with arousal and hard, a little curve to the left that just made it even more mouth-watering. Perfect.

Bucky kicked his own shorts off, and then, finally, _finally_ , they were naked together. Bucky hitched in a breath, feeling blessed and a little shy and desperately, _desperately_ wanting all at the same time. He dragged his gaze back up, past plump, perfect nipples and the smooth line of Tony’s throat, and finally met Tony’s eyes. “I am going to taste you now.”

And he put his mouth to work, trailing kisses down Tony’s chest. Found one of those nipples and licked at it, nuzzled, twisted his tongue over it until it was firm and peaked under his mouth, until Tony was arching up into the touch. He moved lower, exploring the xylophone of Tony’s ribs, the dip at Tony’s navel, the sensitive skin at the point of Tony’s hip, drawing out twitches and moans, giggles and squirming, shudders and deep-throated groans.

Bucky glanced up, mouth hovering bare millimeters above Tony’s cock to gauge his reaction, then teased, tongue flicking out and ghosting over the crown, tasting the bead of precome there.

“Oh, _fuck--_ ” Tony gasped, and his fingers curled into Bucky’s hair, his head tipping back as his back arched. “God, Bucky, _please_...”

Bucky situated himself between Tony’s legs. He pressed Tony’s thighs apart, spreading them wide. He took a moment to admire Tony, sprawled open and unselfconsciously on display. He took Tony into his mouth, licking at the head of Tony’s cock like a popsicle, stroking down its length and then back up, quick, slick movements. He ran his tongue around the base, then up the vein, teasing, tracing, _tasting_. God, Tony was sweet, his skin tangy and seasoned with the faint traces of seasalt that everyone picked up from the breeze.

It didn’t take long before Tony was writhing, whimpering and begging. His hands moved restlessly, from Bucky’s hair to Bucky’s arms to clenching at the sheets to pinching at his own nipples -- Jesus _Christ_. His whole body moved, curling and arching, hips jerking as if he couldn’t quite decide whether to push in toward Bucky’s mouth or pull away. “Bucky, fuck, I-- Oh, _fuck_ , please, honey, god, yes, that, just like--”

Bucky flexed his fingers, taking a greedy handhold on Tony’s ass and lifting, bringing Tony closer, sucking Tony’s cock as far down as he could take it, until he could scarcely breathe. Lost himself in the sensation of Tony’s body moving against his, frantic and unable to still, the rhythm of his tongue and mouth, the salt and bitter taste, the ragged moans that he tore from Tony’s throat.

Tony arched again, crying out as Bucky worked him over. The sheer, physical pleasure of him was blinding; he was everything Bucky had imagined in those desperate fantasies, and more.

But it was the emotional overflow that made Bucky want to weep in gratitude: that he was finally, finally able to unleash himself on Tony’s body, and that Tony was _letting him_. He pulled back to gasp for air, nuzzling his cheek against Tony’s spit-slick cock, letting the heat of his breath tease out another shiver.

Tony twitched and whined with each small movement, panting almost as hard as Bucky. “Ohgod,” he groaned, a lust-addled slur, “ _please_ tell me you top, because there is _no way_ I’m lasting long enough if you only bottom.”

Oh sweet Christ. Buck dropped his head, resting his forehead against Tony’s thigh at the ache that rippled through him. He pulled himself up, slow, until he was level with Tony’s face. Touched his cheek, ran a thumb across Tony’s lip. Twice, he’d done it that way. Alex had never let him, of course -- Alex had been too hyper-masculine, too self-conscious of image to even return oral favors. But he had done it a few times, and had experienced it enough himself to know what not to do. And god, _god_ , he wanted to sink into Tony, to plough him into the mattress, experience him shaking and eager under Bucky’s body. “I can make it good for you,” Bucky promised. “You want that? Want me to open you up and take you apart? Sounds good to me. Want to feel you around me, the way you shiver... Oh, god, I want that.”

“Yes, please, _please_. Want you in me. Over me, surrounding me and filling me up...” Tony sucked in Bucky’s thumb as it moved across his lip again, tongue flicking at the pad, eyes hot like a promise.

Bucky inhaled, painfully hard. “Jesus, Tony,” he said. _I am falling in love with you, so hard._ He leaned down, claimed Tony’s mouth, hard and fierce, driving his tongue inside and tasting everything, leaving no part untouched. His hands roamed, stroking every inch of skin. He shoved an arm under Tony’s back, to pull them closer, wanting to bite and mark and dig in his nails until he was right under Tony’s skin.

He groped around behind him on the bed for the lube, paused in his invasion of Tony’s mouth only long enough to tear the packet open with his teeth. He didn’t have the mental capacity left for words, barely enough for finesse and he squirted the gel against Tony’s asshole. Shaking with the need to be kind, gentle, to make it good, he circled his finger around the tight pucker, watching Tony’s face with intensity.

Tony was vocal in his pleasure, sighs and gasps and shuddering moans that Bucky wanted to listen to _forever_. He wasn’t shy about offering suggestions or praise or demands, either, as fully invested in his own pleasure as Bucky was. It was weirdly comforting, the couple of times he told Bucky to slow down, to take things down a notch -- knowing Tony wouldn’t simply endure discomfort was a relief in mind, if not Bucky’s aching prick. Tony practically _wailed_ when Bucky found his prostate, loud enough they probably heard him all the way down at the water’s edge. Christ, he was beautiful. By the time Bucky had worked up to three fingers, Tony was sweating and shivering and babbling a constant stream of encouragement and begging. “Ready, I’m ready, c’mon, I need it, _please_.”

Bucky pulled free, careful. Found the condom (thank god it hadn’t disappeared into the blankets with all the squirming around they’d done). Took one last taste of Tony’s cock, because it was damn hard to resist it, so pretty. Long enough to satisfy, not quite thick enough to be really arrogant. _Perfect_.

Bucky was so hard, so damn ready, and his hands were trembling so much with need that it took him a few attempts to get the condom on. “Hold your legs open for me, darlin’,” Bucky said, getting them lined up, brushing the swollen head of his cock against Tony’s hole, teasing again, because damn, those _noises…_ he could probably get off just listening to them.

Tony hooked his hands under his knees and pulled them up and wide. “Come on, honey,” he begged. “Need you so bad, want you now.” His skin was flushed and glistening and his eyes were near-black with desperate lust.

Bucky gritted his teeth with the need to hold on. God, it’d been so long, and he had been dancing on the edge of wanting for _weeks_. Bucky rocked in, breached that ring of muscle, still tight, hot and slick. He took hold of Tony’s hips, changing the angle just a little. Tony’s expressive groans shook him to his core; the tight clench of Tony’s body was outrageous, sweet and dirty and oh, so right.

“I got you, I got you, baby,” Bucky said. He had to hand it to Tony with a bow and a flourish, nothing about this man was ordinary. Even as he sunk in, losing himself to animal need, he was changing. Every cell in his body was melting into liquid desire and when -- later -- he pulled himself away from Tony’s heat and fire, he’d be forever marked by it.

But that was later, and now, _now_ , Tony was in his arms, and he was flush inside Tony’s body. He shuddered, kissed Tony with reverence. “You good?”

Tony stretched his neck up to claim another kiss, slow and sweet, and rocked his body a little, testing. “Yeah,” he said, breathless, “I’m good. Start slow, tho, yeah?”

 _Slow_. God, it was _torture_ , the miracle of Tony’s body clenched tight around him. He stayed where he was, shifting gently, letting just the soft motions of his hips nudge them through short strokes, slow and easy, and when that wasn’t enough, he claimed Tony’s mouth and thrust his tongue inside, fierce and eager, mimicking the coupling his body was urging him toward, letting that be enough until Tony bucked up to meet him.

“Oh…” Bucky was shaking, his arms quivering as he kept himself balanced over Tony’s body. “Oh, god.” He groaned, kissed Tony again, and again, wanting everything, wanting Tony to give him everything. “So fucking perfect.”

He pulled back, the liquid slide so captivating that Bucky was breathless from it. He threw back his head, blood pounding in his temples, then slid back in, sinking himself into that velvet clutch. He wasn’t deep enough, wanted more, more, and rocked his hips, grinding deep inside, pulling Tony’s hips up to meet him. Slow. Deep. God, so good.

“Fuck, you’re _perfect_ ,” Tony groaned. “So sweet... You, when you’re-- more, oh god, yes, more.”

Bucky let out a low, guttural moan, as animalistic as it was needy. He kissed Tony again, he couldn’t get enough of that mouth, wanted to have Tony’s lips on him, as he lost track of everything else except the need to drive in, to thrust and rock and _fuck._ He was aware of everything, the way Tony shook and trembled around him. _Too soon, too soon._ He never wanted it to end, but he didn’t see how he could help that, because it was fucking perfect and too much and it had been so long… Too soon, even as he pulled back and slammed in again, he was going to…

“Oh, god, baby, tell me you’re close, I want you to feel so good and…” Bucky panted for breath, struggling to get himself under control. He pushed back, cool air dragging between them, soothing his overheated skin. Got a hand on Tony’s cock and stroked.

Half a dozen strokes, and Tony shouted and came, bucking so hard Bucky was afraid he’d hurt himself, but his spill was hot and slippery on Bucky’s hand and Tony clenched down hard enough that Bucky could barely move to keep thrusting. “Fuck,” Tony gasped, hoarse, “oh god, Bucky, come on, come for me, honey, I want, I need to feel you coming inside me.”

It was sublime, beyond pleasure. Bucky felt huge, burning up with it, and Tony was such a tight, slick fit. Need drove him deeper into Tony’s body. He cupped the back of Tony’s head, cradling it, the tickle of Tony’s hair soft against his palm, bracing himself on one elbow. He slammed into Tony, pushing harder. Bucky keened, sparks of black and blue dancing in his vision as he shuddered. Holy hell, it was more than he’d ever imagined. Tony rocked with him, giving everything, and need ran like lava in his veins.

He shook apart with a hot, primal scream, spilled himself into the condom, giving himself to Tony.

Bucky could not let go of Tony. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down into Tony’s sweaty and sated face, then groaned and buried his head in the crook of Tony’s neck. “Oh, my god.”

Tony hummed against Bucky’s shoulder, a smug satisfied sort of sound. “Knew you’d be good,” he mumbled after a moment’s effort to catch his breath. He pushed his fingers languidly through Bucky’s hair, stroked down Bucky’s spine. “Next time I need to get my mouth on you, though.”

Bucky’s dick, still deep inside, jerked with interest at that idea. “I need you not to say things like that,” Bucky teased. “I’ll want you to keep me in this bed all week.”

Tony chuckled at that, low and dirty, and fuck, Bucky was going to have to just resign himself to having a hard-on _all the goddamned time_ , apparently.

He managed to gather his wits eventually, and pulled back and out with a small grimace. He tied off the condom and dropped it into the wastepaper basket, and flopped back down onto the bed. “Hot, hot, hot.” He shoved all the sheets and blankets off and sprawled out across as much space as he could find in the bed, skin prickling as the sweat cooled him a little. A very little.

Tony lay beside him for a few more minutes, then got up and padded into the bathroom. Water splashed in the sink for a little while, and then turned off. Tony came back in with a damp washcloth, which he dropped on Bucky’s stomach with a grin -- oh, good, cold water, not hot. Bucky made use of the washcloth, getting rid of lube and semen and sweat. Better. Ahhh.

Tony flopped back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “So... Not to ruin the afterglow or anything, but... there’s stuff you probably should know. If we’re going to keep doing this.”

That was sort of unfair, Bucky thought. His brain was _melted_ and Tony wanted to talk? Bucky scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec. Just… please tell me your name is, actually, _Tony_ , okay?” He was pretty sure Tony would be the same person, but Bucky had just been crying his name, and… it sat weirdly in his mind, thinking it might be the wrong one.

“Yeah, it is.” Bucky kind of hated how familiar he was getting with Tony’s “please don’t be mad” face. “But my last name isn’t Edwards. It’s Stark.”

Bucky swallowed. “Okay.” He floundered a bit, not quite knowing what to do. He traced a finger over Tony’s chest and discovered he was spelling out Tony’s name over the heated skin. “And you’re not in legal trouble, right?”

“No legal trouble,” Tony confirmed. “I just... Had to leave, and didn’t really have anywhere to go _to_.”

“All right, baby.” He opened his arms, let Tony curl up in them. “You tell me what you need to tell me. Doesn’t change anything. Not how I feel, not what I want. Okay?”

 


	27. Chapter 27

It was easier, telling Bucky what he’d already told Steve. Not _easy_ , by any stretch, but... easier. Maybe it was _because_ he’d already told Steve, a sort of rehearsal. Maybe it was because he’d had some sleep and his brain had finally stopped spinning around in three directions at once like a carnival ride. Maybe it was because the sweat was still drying and Bucky was spooned around him, holding him protectively close in a way that made the past seem distant and faded, like an old photograph.

“God, sweetheart,” Bucky rasped, “I can’t even imagine how awful that was for you.”

Tony laughed, a little bitterly, and turned his head to kiss the bicep he was using as a pillow. “The thing is, it wasn’t. I mean, it was, but it... It was a frog boil. You know you can put a frog in water, and then start heating that water up, and the frog won’t even notice it getting hotter and hotter until it’s too late? It was like that. Didn’t even yell that much when we fought, just made me feel... ungrateful. Small. I thought, as much as he did for me, it was only fair to indulge his possessive streak. I’d only really started to notice the heat right before it... ended. I didn’t even realize just _how much_ of a bastard he’d really been until after I’d left.”

Bucky tightened his arm over Tony’s waist and peppered the back of his neck with light kisses. “I never want to hurt you or control you like that,” he said. “Never. If you ever feel like I’m doing that to you, just... I don’t know, kick me in the shin or something. Please.”

Tony squirmed around to face Bucky, brushed his fingers down the side of Bucky’s face. “I’m kind of a mess,” he pointed out. “I don’t know if I’d notice it happening. Or I might totally blow something innocent all out of proportion. Like, when you told Dum Dum you weren’t going to let him see me again.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open and his eyes got wide. “Oh, shit, I didn’t even--” Tony stopped him with a kiss.

“I know you were just joking around,” Tony said. “It just... scraped raw. That’s what I meant -- I’m kind of broken, I don’t... interpret things right.”

Bucky shook his head. “Tony, listen. I’m not kidding, if I make you feel like that, you... you _tell me_ , okay, baby? Even if it’s something like that. I don’t want to make you feel that way, even by accident. And if you don’t see it, Nat will stab me with a spoon again if I start to really fuck up. She’s adopted you, you know. There’s no way she’ll let anyone hurt you. Not even me. _Especially_ not me.” He touched the bruises on his chest. They were actually kind of weirdly impressive; Nat had jabbed him in a circle all the way around his heart, midnight, three, six, and nine.

Tony laughed a little, and tucked his face against Bucky’s chest. “Oh, god, Nat is going to _kill_ me.”

Bucky pulled him close, snuffling at Tony’s hair. “Only a little bit. She... You scared the shit out of us, sweetheart.”

Tony winced. “Sorry.”

“No, I mean... We were afraid we’d done something wrong. Mostly me, but I think her too, a little. Even if it was that she had pushed us together too fast.”

“I should probably still go down and apologize.” He really didn’t want to get out of bed at all, but he probably owed her that.

“She’ll wait. Until you’re ready. I… Good _god_ , Tony. After all that, don’t you think you deserve a little time, just to… to _be_?” Bucky’s eyes were stricken, anguished. On _Tony’s_ behalf, which was strange and wonderful.

Tony couldn’t resist running his thumb across Bucky’s lips. “I’ve got time now,” he said. “And no one else I’d rather be with.”

“Okay. Okay,” Bucky said. “Gimme a minute. We can go -- Jesus, did they close up the restaurant? I don’t even know.” He laughed, a little weak and broken in the middle, but it was a laugh. “You’ve got me all upside down and backward.” Bucky kissed Tony’s neck, opened his mouth, hesitated and closed it again.

Tony wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He settled for waiting a few seconds, in case Bucky changed his mind again, before saying, “Guess that means it’s my job to get you straightened out again.”

“Only if you want me to be of some use to you,” Bucky said. He stretched, all those muscles on display as he arched up, fully unselfconscious in his nudity. “Right. Getting up. I can do that, that’s... a thing I can do.” He padded over to the dresser and grabbed clean underwear, yanked his jeans up and grabbed a button down shirt that he left open. “I’m totally showing this off. Nat’s going to want to see her handiwork. That woman is _freaky._ ”

Uh-huh, right. Showing off Nat’s bruises (admittedly freakishly precise) was the reason Bucky was going to walk around with his chest on display. No other reason at all. Tony grinned and watched him for a moment longer before leaning over the edge of the bed to snare crumpled clothes.

He felt awake for the first time in days. _Alive_ for maybe the first time in months. He was going to apologize to Nat and then, he thought, he was going to enjoy his damn evening. Eat something good. Maybe go out for ice cream. Walk on the beach, hold his boyfriend’s hand. Take said boyfriend back home and pick up where they’d left off.

“I don’t suppose you speak the gift language,” Bucky said, peering into his tiny freezer. “All I’ve got in here is a very sad-looking bag of frozen broccoli.”

Tony grimaced, an endless parade of gifts marching behind his eyes. He knew gifts for _you were late and I threw your laptop across the room_ and _I didn’t mean to humiliate you in front of a room full of people_ and _I didn’t want to hurt you but you just make me so damn mad_. He even knew a few for _I need you to be grateful and fawning_. He wasn’t sure how to say _I’m sorry I didn’t trust you_.

On the other hand, Nat had always been very clear about how best to suck up to her. “How do you not have any chocolate or wine up here?” Tony wondered. “I’d think you’d just keep a stash ready at all times.”

Bucky flushed. “I might have used it up recently. You think we should stop by the store? I… really don’t want to get stabbed again,” he said. Then stopped, studying Tony’s face. “So, that really is a thing, isn’t it? I could see it, while you were thinking. I should know better by now, than to doubt Nat.”

“What’s a thing? You doubted Nat? Shame. Don’t you know she knows everything?” Tony wriggled his feet into his sneakers. “I don’t think you’re the one up for stabbing, this time.”

“The gifts,” Bucky said. “ _He_ used to… wound you, and then try to make up for it with money. Buying your affection, your attention. But nothing ever changed. He wasn’t sorry that he hurt you, he just didn't want to deal with your feelings. Anything you felt that wasn't about how perfect he was didn't matter.”

Tony stared at him, throat suddenly tight. He had to swallow several times before he could breathe again. “Nat had that figured, did she?” he managed. Another breath, slow and careful so he couldn’t choke on it. “Yeah. That... Yeah.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, soft. He held out a hand to Tony. “So, we’re not going to do that, okay? Ma always said the best way to be sorry was to accept that you fucked up, and not do it again. Well, she didn’t say ‘fuck.’ Very proper southern lady, my Ma. Nat’ll forgive you for scaring her. She loves you.”

Tony took Bucky’s hand, let himself be pulled into a hug. Christ, this man was addictive. “Okay,” he said, when the taste of the air no longer made him sick, like he was going to throw up. “We’re not going to do that.” And then, because if he thought about it much longer, his bones were going to vibrate themselves to pieces, he put on a cheeky grin and said, “Just to be clear, birthday and Christmas presents are very much okay.”

“According to Nat, there are apparently gifts that say ‘I’d like to fuck you through the mattress,’ too. I don’t know what they are, but maybe she’ll tell me. Eventually,” Bucky said, and slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Let’s go, baby. I got your back. And I promise to get between you and any oncoming spoons.”

***

"Oh my god," Tony breathed.

Nat and Steve had kept the restaurant open, calling in Sam and Wanda to help out, and Nat had forgiven Tony much more easily than he’d expected, only chiding him with a few sentences in angry Russian before pulling him into a hug and kissing both cheeks. Bucky had gotten involved in a conversation with a customer, and then wound up getting sucked into work, despite his earlier resolution to take the day off.

If Tony had prodded, Bucky probably would’ve dropped it again. Like a hot potato. But after everything, Tony had wanted an hour or two alone anyway, to process and think, so he’d just kissed Bucky’s cheek and hugged Nat again and made his way back to his apartment, taking Lucky with him.

He’d _actually_ unpacked his stuff, and taken Lucky for a walk, and then come back and picked up the tablet, meaning to surf idly while his thoughts settled. But then he’d found himself staring at the search bar, and thinking about the friends he’d let Ty separate him from, and...

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tony said again.

Lucky shoved his cold nose into the crook of Tony’s elbow, and Tony patted him absently, unable to look away from the tablet. "It's okay, boy." Lucky whined again and dropped his head back onto his paws.

Tony stared at the tablet some more. So simple. Why hadn't he done this _weeks_ ago?

His finger hesitated over the link before finally touching it. The web page re-loaded, Culver University's header and sidebar, and in the main frame... "Dr. R. B. Banner, Faculty." There was a headshot at the top that banished all doubt that Tony might have not found the right man.

Tony skimmed the brief CV and tapped the link that displayed Bruce's publications. _Oh, Bruce, you've done so well..._ Bruce had been working on his doctoral thesis when Tony had met him, inexplicably kind to the upstart brat who’d interrupted his studies to bombard him with questions.

Tony made a note to look up those publications later, if he could find them. But there, at the bottom of the faculty description page, was an email link.

Tony stared at it until his eyes began to blur, and only startled out of the daze he was in when Lucky wormed under his arm with a hopeful noise.

He laughed shakily and scratched Lucky's ears. "The best way to be sorry is to accept that you fucked up, and not do it again," he told the dog solemnly. Lucky licked Tony's face. "Yeah, okay," Tony said, pushing Lucky gently away and then tapping on the link.

***

> To: james.r.rhodes@airforce.mil  
>  From: starkae@mit.edu  
>  Subject: PhysEng 221 Homework
> 
> Rhodey,
> 
> Wow, I can't believe this email account still exists, but if I’d used a newer account you probably would’ve deleted it as spam. I wouldn't blame you if you deleted this anyway, but I hope you'll at least give me a chance.
> 
> I'll start with the apology right off. I was an idiot, and I'm sorry. You tried to tell me, so many times, and I refused to listen, and by the time I figured out you were right all along, you'd graduated and left.
> 
> Actually, I only figured it out a few months ago. But I left, as soon as I realized it wasn't getting any better. I left. I found a new place, and I found new people, and a new boyfriend, and these people... I think you'd like them, Rhodey. They _like_ me. They care. They want me to be happy.
> 
> I almost screwed it up, a few days ago, but they forgave me.
> 
> I hope you'll forgive me, too. I was like a rabbit so relieved to escape the wolf that I didn't even notice the hawk. Or some other metaphor, I would've failed Freshman Comp if you hadn't written my papers for me and we both know it.
> 
> My point is, I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't realize what a good friend I had in you until it was far too late. I'll try to do better, if you’ll let me. My new friends, they'd probably help if I asked. That's a thing that friends do.
> 
> That's probably a thing I should've already known, about friends, but I'm getting better.
> 
> I've traded a couple of emails with Bruce, too, and it turns out he's actually not very far from where I am now -- just a couple of hours away. We might meet up sometime soon. (Don't be jealous I talked to him first, platypus; his email was a lot easier to track down than yours.)
> 
> If you think you can forgive me, my new address is down below, and a new email address that's a little less moldy.
> 
> \--Tony

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is on the short side, but don't despair! On Tuesday, in celebration of the Fourth of July, we'll be posting a standalone side fic of the gang going to Busch Gardens (a local amusement park) to celebrate Steve's birthday! It's around 13k long, it will all be posted at once, and it is mostly fluff.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N -- If you aren't subscribed to the series or if you missed the notice, we posted a side story over the American Holiday (Steve’s birthday), [Lord of the Swings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11393430). Nothing relevant to this story's plot happens, but it is a cute look at some of Tony and Bucky’s budding relationship, as well as background Bucky, some Steve & Bucky and Nat & Tony friendship, and Nat’s relationship with her truest love: dessert.

Dum Dum’s house was an enormous, sprawling Colonial, a fixer-upper that he was perpetually fixing up. He’d knocked out everything that wasn’t a supporting wall on the ground floor to create a huge party space. Three sofas, two televisions (one exclusively for gaming consoles, which he had, apparently, all of) and he’d set up several card tables for the party.

Back when Dum Dum was still sharing a tiny apartment with Gabe and Jim, they’d kept a barrel of lollipops by the door and Dum Dum would watch everyone with theirs, selecting the one with the best technique, that Dum Dum wanted to face-fuck. That had ended the first time Gabe had taken him in hand, but the lollipop jar was still in place. Bucky dug through them, searching for butterscotch.

 _Finally_! Jeez, who was eating all his favorites? Bucky offered a handful of them to Tony. Nat reached around Tony’s shoulder and grabbed a lemon one, which she proceeded to do obscene things to until Steve was pink in the face.

Tony took a blueberry one and looked from Nat to Bucky with a mischievous smirk, like he was considering following her example. But instead of forcing Bucky to go through the entire evening with a painful and very noticeable stiffie, he decided to behave. Well, mostly. The way the candy turned his tongue bright blue made it even more obvious than usual when he flicked it out to lick his lip. Which he did whenever he caught Bucky staring.

They’d closed the restaurant down early on Tuesday night and from the way the tension went right out of his shoulders, Bucky was starting to think that was a thing they should do more often. Money was great, but sanity was pretty highly rated, too.

Two games of Settlers were already in full swing, and Jim Morita was laying out curses on Gabe’s mother for having birthed such a cheating bastard from the armpit of New Jersey. Bucky grinned and took Tony on a turn through the room to introduce him around.

“You’ve already met Dum, but say hi again, he might have forgotten,” Bucky said. “And this is his boyfriend, Gabe. Jim, Izzy, Dino, Rebel, Junior, and Pinky. This is my Tony.”

Nat elbowed him in the back. _Ow_. What the… ow.

Gabe glanced up from his textiles. “Hello, Tony. There will be a test at the end of the night.”

Tony grinned. “Gabe. Jim, Izzy, Rebel, Junior, Dino, and Pinky,” he recited, pointing as he went around the room, flawlessly hitting each one despite them having shufled around a little. “Give me a harder one.” Oh, he was in full smartass mode. This was going to be fun.

“Oho, smart guy,” Gabe said. Then he pointed at everyone again, giving astrological signs. In French, because Gabe was an asshole, like most of Bucky’s friends.

Tony considered Gabe for a moment, then recited back the signs -- offering his own in the mix -- and then ended with a brief tirade about how astrological signs were bullshit mumbo-jumbo and no reasonable person would find them remotely useful... also in French. God, that was sexy. Bucky might end up spending the evening with a boner after all.

By the time it was done, Gabe and not a few of the others had paused in their game to listen, and Izzy was actually on his feet and applauding. “Oh, well done, very well done, indeed. I tip my hat to you sir.” Being Izzy, he actually had a hat, a battered trilby. As soon as he put it on, Bucky was tempted to knock it off; it made him look like a Neckbeard McDudebro.

“That is an ugly hat. Seriously. Ugly. Where’d you get it?”

Izzy laughed. “Took it off some guy mansplaining engineering to Sue Storm. _Sue Storm_ , I say that again, with special emphasis. I’m only wearing it ironically because it’s a trophy of my triumph.”

“Sue Storm is, I gather, an engineer?” Tony asked. He’d picked up the rules sheet for Settlers and was skimming over it.

“She is _the_ engineer,” Izzy said. “Production designer for the naval shipyard. If there’s a weapons system or aircraft carrier engine that launches out of the bay that Sue can’t tear apart and make better, I’ll eat that fuckin’ hat.”

“You’d like her,” Bucky said.

“I do like engineers,” Tony agreed. “Though I usually stick to smaller projects, like cars. And ovens.” Pinky jumped in at that, and he and Tony started excitedly going over some recent advancement in car engines that Bucky tuned out immediately in favor of doing a quick headcount to figure out who was missing.

“Is Koenig not coming?” Bucky finally asked.

Gabe licked his lips carefully. “Ah… L.T. will be here a little later. She’s feeling shy.”

“Oh, it’s an L.T. day? Okay, good to know. Did she say how her date went, back in April? I haven’t talked to her for a while.”

Jim shrugged. “The usual. Straight men are stupid. No offense, Steve.”

Steve waved it off; they’d all been frustrated by the steady march of men who’d decided that L.T. wasn’t for them. Stupid men; L.T. was awesome.

Bucky nodded. “Okay. We’ll save her a seat at our table, then.”

“I do not want to play Settlers, but I will take Pinky’s place at Cards Against Humanity,” Natasha said, stealing Pinky’s cards and practically sitting in his lap before he ceded his space to her.

Bucky tugged Tony over to the table where Steve was setting up a fresh game. “L.T.’s transitioning. She lets us know who’s coming over, usually. If she’s feeling shy, she’s probably got a new dress. She goes all out for the gang. It’s good to see. She was _miserable_ , when we were kids.”

Tony nodded. “It’s good you’re all supportive. Who is she when she’s not L.T.?”

“Eric,” Bucky said.

“Oh, L.T.’s great. She’s a lot of fun.” Steve said, handing around resources.

It didn’t take long before people were making suggestive jokes about wood and sheep (it never did). Tony was building an empire like he’d been born to it halfway through the first game, and had actually let Junior drag him into a “yo mama” exchange between rounds. Tony lost that one, but _everyone_ lost to Junior at that. Tony’d held his own decently enough to earn a few high-fives, at least, and Bucky was practically glowing at how well he was slotting into the crew.

Then the door opened again, and… fucking Thor walked in, six pack of some fancy microbrew dangling from one hand.

Bucky sighed. Thor shouted a greeting and went around collecting kisses from the people who were still willing to kiss him. When he got ‘round to Bucky, Bucky tipped his cheek.

“It seems I’m getting cheek from Bucky Barnes,” Thor crowed and kissed his cheek noisily. And then licked him. _Ug._ “Who’s your gorgeous little friend?”

“That’s Nat,” Tony answered promptly. “Haven’t you met her before?”

“Sweet _and_ sassy!” Thor grinned and dragged a chair over to Tony’s other side, turning its back to the table and straddling it. “Your chair looks uncomfortable. If you like, you may sit in my lap and we shall speak of the first thing that arises!”

Bucky buried his face in one hand. God, Thor was so, so embarrassing. “That was terrible, Thor. You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you get your pick-up lines at the discount store?”

“Aw, go easy on him,” Tony said, winking at Bucky and flashing him another glimpse of blue tongue. “I’m very intimidating, I’m sure he’s just nervous.”

“I’m always star-struck by new, beautiful faces,” Thor said, leaning into Tony’s personal space. “You make all these--” He waved a hand, encompassing the room. “--look ordinary. Your face is the only one here worth looking at.”

Even Steve rolled his eyes at that. “Thor,” he said, in greeting, with that particular half-sigh of only vaguely amused tolerance.

“Steven,” Thor said. He glanced across the table and then away again, dismissing Steve entirely. Straight guys were of no interest to Thor unless he thought he could help them out of the closet.

Tony was eyeing the board, drumming his fingers lightly as he calculated. When Thor leaned toward him -- undoubtedly to offer yet another bad line -- Tony leaned away. “Nope,” he said distractedly. “I’m trying to formulate strategy, here.”

Bucky eyed Tony sidelong, trying to read the expression on his face, but Tony seemed unconcerned. It was Bucky’s turn, so he offered Steve a truly ludicrous and badly balanced arrangement that would probably get Steve wiped out in the next two turns, just to see if Steve was actually paying attention.

He wasn’t; instead paying a little too much attention to the innuendo-laden game Nat was playing, because he absently accepted Bucky’s offer.

Bucky tried not to laugh as he took two of Steve’s lands in exchange for grain.

Tony raised an eyebrow at Steve, and scolded at Bucky. “You’re a horrible person. Why would you do that?” He was smirking, though, so it was probably okay.

“What?” Steve stared back at the board, then… “ _Bucky_!”

Bucky cracked up, tipping back in his chair and smirking like he just raked in actual money. It didn’t take Thor much longer to wander off; he wasn’t big on being ignored. He joined one of the other games, but kept stealing peeks at Tony all evening as the games went on. They switched it up; Gabe joined Bucky and Tony while Steve went to play Uno with Nat and a couple of late-comers, Nick and Ilsa.

When Nat cleaned Steve’s clock, throwing down several skips and draw fours in a row, he muttered, “Dammit.”

“Janet,” someone piped up.

“I wanna screw,” Bucky added, singing.

“I’ve got something to say,” Steve announced. Oh, _god_. Bucky started laughing. It had taken him _forever_ to talk Steve into joining the crew down at the Naro, but once he had, Steve had made a fantastic Brad. (Bucky was pretty sure he’d only agreed, originally, because Peggy Carter was playing Janet, and Steve really, really wanted to see her in bra and panties.)

“Say it, _asshole_!” Bucky yelled.

“I really loved the…”

“Starts with an S, suck suck _suck--_ ” There went Dum Dum, _of course_.

“…skillful way…”

“What a fucking genius!” Bucky grinned, noticing that Tony was going along with it. He obviously had seen the movie a few times.

“…you beat the girls…”

“With whips and chains!”

“…to the bride’s bouquet.”

By the time the call-and-answer was over, most of them were laughing, singing, or otherwise quoting choice bits of Rocky Horror to each other. Nat was glaring at Steve and insisting that he explain this weird American thing to her. _Good luck with that, Stevie_.

“So, _Rocky Horror_ , yeah?” Tony said. He was shuffling through a deck of Exploding Kittens cards and snickering.

“Verily,” Thor announced, his hand in Bucky’s hair. Bucky swatted at him, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Barnes was, perchance, the best Frank we had in our shadowcast. T’was a fair shame when he could no longer join us in our merriment.”

Tony leaned back in his chair and looked at Bucky, obviously visualizing. “Nice. Very nice.”

“It was a laugh,” Bucky admitted. “Fun. Kinda sexy. And I got to sing in public.”

From the other table, Nat said, disgust dripping from her lips, “You will show me this thing, Steven. I do not like this, being outside of the joke.” Steve looked like a man balanced on the border between heaven and hell with no way of knowing which way he would fall.

"Dockside shadow cast?" Tony teased. "I call dibs on Columbia." He stood up and stretched, then bent to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “I'm going to get a beer. Anyone want anything?”

Bucky was digging through the card-bin, dragging out a few decks of Fluxx. “Mmm. Just a Coke for me? I gotta drive. Thanks.” One, two… three. Oh, Zombie Fluxx! That game was crazy enough that if you had several decks, pretty much everyone in the room could play. Bucky got Steve to help him move tables around and they started setting up.

“I will go first!” Nat said, standing on the coffee table like a conquering hero, and no one was going to argue with her, because no one ever did if they knew what was good for them.

Bucky was just passing out cards when he noticed Tony hadn’t come back from the kitchen yet. His first impulse was to jump up and go looking; part of him was still shaken at having nearly lost Tony entirely. But Tony’s issues mostly centered around control, and Bucky’s need to keep eyes on Tony would definitely be far too easy to misread. _Give it a few minutes_ , he bargained with himself, _and then you can go_.

***

There were at least eight different kinds of beer in Dum Dum and Gabe’s fridge, and even if you discounted the nasty beer-flavored water, that still left plenty of choices. Tony snaked his arm into the back to snag Bucky’s Coke while he considered his options.

He’d been braced, sort of, for Bucky to offer to come with him. He’d spent the last half of the game working up to it and trying to remind himself that it was because they were around a lot of people Tony’d only just met and Bucky didn’t want him to feel isolated, and _not_ because Bucky didn’t trust him out of sight.

But then Bucky had just put in his request and gone right back to poking through the crate of games, and Tony had been left feeling... he wasn’t sure, yet, but it was good. Relieved and elated and just... good. Tony had always been a people-person. He’d forgotten just how much he loved meeting new people; for years he’d only really socialized with Ty attached to his hip. This evening had given him a surge of energy like six cups of espresso, but cleaner. He was practically vibrating with it, and the night was young, yet.

He finally found a microbrew that sounded interesting, and leaned against the counter to try it.

“Good pick, yes?” Thor said, coming out of the bathroom in the hall. A fat burmese cat followed him out, pouncing on his calf every time he tried to take a step. Rather than trip over her, Thor picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. “Greedy thing.” He dropped the cat in front of her food bowl. “We were not, in fact, properly introduced before. I’m Thor.”

Thor actually was quite attractive: tall and muscular, with long, wavy hair, like something off a lurid romance novel cover. He was also almost a foot taller than Tony, and bulky in a way that made even Steve look a bit underfed. He wore a close-cropped beard and clothes that fit an almost steampunk aesthetic, including a vest and pocket watch on a silver chain. He smiled a lot, and his laugh was wholehearted and booming, the sort of thing that encouraged wanting him to do it again. All in all, like a vast and enthusiastic puppy.

“Tony,” he returned, watching Thor cautiously. He hadn’t quite pegged yet whether Thor was a good-natured asshole, like most of Bucky’s friends seemed to be, or a charming prick. Bucky seemed to lean toward the latter opinion, but most of the others seemed to think it was the first, so Bucky’s opinion might have been a little biased. Thor hadn’t been offended by Tony’s brush-off earlier, though, which was a good sign.

Thor settled in, leaned against the counter, not quite far enough to be casual, but not actually touching. “I have not had the pleasure, before, of seeing you,” he said, raking his eyes over Tony’s body, noting everything from the battered sneakers to Tony’s hair. “‘Tis always grand, to make a new acquaintance. How did you come to join Barnes’s crew of loyal rabble?”

“Washed up on the beach in front of the Dockside,” Tony said. “They fed me, so I followed them home and now I won’t leave.”

“Ah, the tourist dollars, they command us all.” Thor reached around Tony to snag himself a beer and then returned to his spot. “My father owns several local hotels, so I understand. The almighty out-of-towners. If you remain with us, I shall tell you, winter’s easier on the back, yet harder on the wallet.”

“Always a trade-off,” Tony agreed. “Looking forward to having a little more free time, though, I’ll admit.”

“Barnes keeps you hopping, I’d imagine,” Thor said. “He’s not one to let someone evade work just because they’re his lover.” He popped the top off his beer and flicked it into the trashcan. The cat investigated, standing up on her hind legs to paw at the stack of discarded chip bags and bottles. “You should come in to town. Valhalla has a good bar. Live music. It’s quite entertaining. I’d love to buy you a drink or two.”

And there it was. Tony hid his sigh in a swig of actually-not-terrible beer. “Well, I appreciate not being handed a moldy line this time,” he said. “Music sounds good, but I’m not interested in the drinks.”

Thor didn’t seem particularly put out. “As you will,” he said. “You must be quite taken with him. Barnes, that is. Because I know it’s no failing of my own; I am a prince among men. But I was under the impression that Barnes was out of the game.”

“Yes, you’re a very pretty princess,” Tony said, dryly amused. “But I don’t do casual anymore. And Bucky’s game is pretty hard to beat, at least from where I’m sitting.”

Thor rocked back on his heels, studying Tony over the mouth of his beer bottle. “Very well, then. Bring Barnes along, and come listen to the band. I’ll find a new fish and we shall have some revels.” He clapped Tony on the arm and wandered off with another one of those flashy smiles. A moment later, Tony caught his voice raising in greetings, a flamboyant, “L.T., you are _stunning_!”

Tony closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh.

Someone took the spot where Thor had been, leaning against the counter. “Hey, babe,” Bucky said, picking up the can of Coke from the counter. “This one mine?”

Tony leaned into Bucky’s warmth. “Yeah. Sorry, got distracted chatting.”

“No worries,” Bucky said. He put his arm around Tony’s shoulder. “L.T.’s here, and we’re about to play Zombie Fluxx, the whole group. Last one left standing wins, but as you knock us out of the game, we’ll start chasing you. Metaphorically speaking. You having fun?”

It set off a strange sort of dissonance, not to be grilled about the whys and the whos and the whats of his absence. _This is what trust feels like_. Bucky trusted him -- to come back, to fend off unwanted advances, to not take advantage of that trust. He had to stop, to catch his breath by the tail, and when he met Bucky’s gaze, he thought, _this is what love should feel like_.

“Yeah,” he said, around the sense of wonder. “Yeah, I am.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky quickly. “Thanks for bringing me.”

The way Bucky’s breath hitched and his eyes darkened, even at that casual affection, was gratifying. “Well, it’s kinda trial by fire with these idjits. They can be a little intimidating in force like this, but I knew you could handle it. Come on, we’ll probably end up infected in two rounds and then we can chase Nat all over the place.” Bucky kissed Tony again, tongue flicking out to brush lightly against Tony’s lower lip, and then he tugged Tony out of the kitchen as if he had no idea at all what the effects of that kiss were.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the games mentioned here are real! (We may have gotten some of the Settlers information wrong; tisfan's watched but never actually played, and 27dragons has only played it once. We have played all the others and can recommend them highly.) Fluxx and its variations are a lot of fun, especially when boozing.
> 
> Pretty sure everyone can put their hands on a game of Uno, but as for the others:  
> [Settlers of Catan](https://catanshop.com/)  
> [Cards Against Humanity](https://store.cardsagainsthumanity.com/)  
> [Fluxx](http://www.fluxxgames.com/)  
> [Exploding Kittens](http://www.explodingkittens.com/)


	29. Chapter 29

Hurricane Franklin hit Cuba as a Category Four and flattened it before turning its eye north and raging up the coast. It bumped into Georgia and slowed down to a two before hitting a warm patch of water off the coast of South Carolina and veering toward the Outer Banks, picking up speed.

The Outer Banks acted like a pinball bumper for the northern half of the East Coast, often knocking hurricanes and tropical storms out to sea and limiting most of the damage to the shorelines. The eastern seaboard usually only had to eat the full force of a hurricane once every half dozen years or so. But it was looking like this was going to be one of those times. Franklin’s outer edge wasn’t slowing at all as it made landfall two hundred miles south of Sandbridge.

Which had Bucky a little paranoid. He wasn’t _scared_ , exactly, but he’d told Tony about living through through Isabelle as a child and Irene as an adult, and those hurricanes had done so very much damage. He was glued to the weather reports, checking his phone at least once an hour, tracking the storm.

“Broke hundred and sixty miles an hour winds,” Bucky reported. The strain was starting to show as he gathered everyone in the kitchen. “Best estimate right now is that it’ll hit tomorrow evening, around eight. We need to close down as soon as lunch is done -- start turning people away now -- and break for storm prep. Strongly recommended that we evacuate off the oceanfront, at least. Governor will decide if it’s a mandatory evac tomorrow morning, but get your stuff prepped to go.”

Outside, it was already cloudy, the winds high and occasionally they got a spray of hard rain for about ten minutes before it would stop again.

Tony had helped to prepare for smaller storms before -- little squalls that bumbled up the coast from time to time, high in wind and quick to pass. That preparation mainly consisted of making sure all the doors were fastened so they couldn’t blow open, and bringing in some of the lighter furniture from the patio and deck so they couldn’t get thrown around.

Hurricane prep was an entirely different animal. Tony had witnessed a couple of mostly blown-out hurricanes in New York, but the beach residents took it far more seriously. The windows all had to be criss-crossed with tape to prevent shards of glass from spraying the floors in case of breaks and plywood nailed into place over them to attempt to prevent those breaks in the first place. (Dockside had a _lot_ of windows. Just a ridiculous number of them, Tony felt by the time they were done.) _Everything_ came in from outside, even the tables. All the appliances in the kitchen had to be pulled away from the wall and unplugged so they couldn’t short out if the water made it inside. The big freezer where they kept meat and some of the desserts was hooked up to a generator, so they wouldn’t have to throw out thousands of dollars worth of food if the power went out.

It was a lot of work to do in a short amount of time, and Bucky fretted all the way through it, like a mother hen with a clutch of chicks. Tony hadn’t seen him so stressed out since the fire incident. He staunchly resisted all of Tony’s efforts to calm him down, and in fact wound up even tighter as each new weather report came in.

“I have storm boxes for you,” Nat said. A storm box, apparently, was a banker’s cardboard box lined with black trash bags, and another bag to store the box in when it was full. “You will want to take anything irreplaceable with you, when we evacuate, but the rest can stay here. Just in case the window breaks, or the roof comes off, we will protect it, however.”

Tony didn’t really have anything irreplaceable -- or rather, he couldn’t afford to lose _any_ of his few things -- but most of what he owned still fit in his backpack and could travel with him. He then hesitated over Dummy, the enormous and misshapen plush robot toy that Bucky had won for him during their trip to Busch Gardens for Steve’s birthday. “You are hideous and I would not miss you if the hurricane carried you away,” he told it, but took it down to pack into the back of Bucky’s truck with his things. He tucked the rest in a box, and then went back in to help Bucky pack.

Bucky tossed stuff in the boxes, not bothering to do it neatly, keeping the boxes near the drawers or shelves where the stuff would return, post-storm. He paused when he pulled a photo album out of the bedside table and brushed his fingers over the cover. “This goes with us,” he said.

Bucky flipped through a few of the pages instead of handing it to Tony to put in the “to go” pile; Tony only caught a glimpse of Dockside under construction, a wedding photo of a woman who was probably Bucky’s mother. A few snapshots of middle-school Bucky and Steve together, along with a much older girl who had the suffering, put-upon face of a babysitter. But Bucky didn’t seem to be inclined to talk about the pictures much, and Tony didn’t know how to ask.

Bucky put a few other things in the must-go pile. A stack of letters in yellowed envelopes tied together with a silver ribbon. Some other photos in frames. A jewelry box that contained his parents’ wedding rings, among other, less emotionally precious pieces. The insurance paperwork and deed for Dockside, in case of a total loss.

When they finished the packing and everything in Dockside was as locked down as it was getting, Bucky went out on the rail to have one of his rare mid-day smokes. “Won’t get one once we’re at Nat and Steve’s. She’d murder me, even if I smoked it on the balcony.” He glanced at Tony. “You scared?”

“Not much.” Honestly, he was more excited than scared. Despite Bucky’s steadily increasing agitation, Nat and Steve and Sam had all worked with matter-of-fact efficiency but no real panic, taking time to joke and tease as they always did. Steve had pointed out a news crew out on the road, shooting footage up and down the beach of locals doing their prep, and they’d spent a while laughing about it. Nothing seemed particularly scary. “Should I be?”

Bucky chewed his lip and tilted his head back and forth. “Eh, maybe? About half the time, the storm bounces and it’s no worse than a regular storm. Half of that time, we get high tide and flooding, but the prep keeps it from wiping us out. And then half of the rest of that time, we end up with major repairs. Some of the locals, they stick it out on the beach. If you’re here when the windows break or the door comes off, sometimes you can mitigate the damage. But I put lives over property, and hurricanes kill. Drowning, most often. You get caught in a current and swept away. Battered on rocks and trees and cars. Terrible way to die. Last year, during Hurricane Matthew -- which didn’t even hit us that bad, just a ton of rain, really -- Riri and her mom stayed and a tree fell on their house. Only reason Riri wasn’t killed is ‘cause their dog was barking and she got up from the sofa to try and calm it down. Twenty seconds later, the roof came down, right where she’d been sitting. They’re evacuating this year.”

That would’ve been tragic, for sure -- Riri was a great kid, and smart as a whip. She was going to change the world some day. But Tony put his arm around Bucky’s waist, squeezing. “So are we,” he pointed out. “So we’re going to be safe. And if stuff is broken when it’s all done...” He shrugged. “Fixing things is what I do.”

Bucky nodded, leaning against Tony. “I know. I don’t deal well with waiting, is all. It’s the anticipation that gets to me.” He checked his phone again. “I give it… less than twenty more minutes.”

“Until?” Tony hadn’t seen a weather report for a few hours; twenty minutes seemed to be shaving it pretty close if the storm had sped up again, given the way traffic could get snarled up sometimes.

“Until Steve comes up to try to convince me we have enough time to surf before the storm rolls in,” Bucky said. “Surf report says we’ve got at least four feet overhead, right now. Ten bucks says he’s downstairs, right now, trying to talk Nat into it.”

Tony grinned. “No bet,” he said, because Steve was a fanatic about getting out into the waves every chance. “You going to let him talk you into it? Should I fish my trunks out of the go-bag?”

“You want to? This’ll be hard surf, full tubes. If you get wiped out, you could catch riptide. No riding double, it won’t be that gentle.” Bucky’s answering grin was mildly challenging.

“When am I going to get a chance like this again?” Tony pointed out. “I promise I won’t try to practice any tricks. You guys won’t let anything happen to me.”

“Don’t get your trunks. I have an extra wet suit that’ll probably fit you,” Bucky said. “This tide’ll pull your shorts right off. I’m a little bigger than you are, so it’ll be loose on you. We’ll look into getting you one of your own, next season. We won’t be out long enough for you to get rubber-burn. Probably.”

“Sold,” Tony said. “I wouldn’t care about accidentally flashing Nat and Steve, but that news crew is still cruising up and down the beach and I don’t need my ass on the ten o’clock rundown.”

Bucky chuckled, squeezing the ass in question. “It’s certainly pretty enough to get there,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get changed. The less time Steve has to argue me into it, the more waves we can catch, although sometimes I just like to let him argue. It’s funny.”

“If arguing were an Olympic sport, he’d have all the medals,” Tony agreed. “We should load our stuff in the truck before we go, too.”

“Good plan,” Bucky said. “If we can get ready before Steve comes out… I’ll do something _really_ nice for you.”

“Yeah?” Tony said, his body flush with heat. “Let’s get a move on, then.”

[](https://tisfan.tumblr.com/post/162765093829/)   [](https://tisfan.tumblr.com/post/162765093829/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Even more_ beautiful art from the amazing [ssyn3](http://ssyn3.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Franklin is on the 2017 hurricane name list. We are not prophets, and sincerely hope that Hurricane Franklin doesn’t become an actual thing because then we might feel guilty. Or at least freaked out by our powers of accidental prophecy.
> 
> Also, if you didn't catch it already, we wrote about the gang going to Busch Gardens for Steve’s birthday party. It is at least 90% self-indulgent, pointless fluff. You can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11393430).


	30. Chapter 30

The power went out in the first hour of the storm, leaving them in darkness, and then candlelight. Nat’s aesthetic prohibited battery lamps, despite the fire risk, and she had dozens of enormous pillar candles. Within a matter of minutes after the lights had flickered and died, the room took on a gothic appearance, like some ancient cathedral in a horror movie.

Steve had a portable indoor burner that ran off propane, a hand grinder for coffee beans, and a French press so they could have coffee in the morning, power or no power. (Bucky accused Steve of being a total boy scout, but Bucky probably wouldn’t find it nearly so funny when morning rolled around and Steve made him eat those words before allowing him to have coffee.)

Lucky was crated up. It didn’t make him happy, but Liho was even less happy about a dog invading her personal space, and if the two animals started chasing each other around, stuff would get broken. Tony had to take Nat’s word for it that the cat even existed; despite toys and a litter box and food bowls, Tony had never actually _seen_ the cat. Anyway, Tony could appreciate Nat not wanting dog fur spread throughout the entirety of her home, and Lucky was accepting his fate with grace, mostly. From time to time, he let out a plaintive whine, but he seemed to be satisfied as long as Tony went over and scratched his ears through the cage wire. If they had to stay more than a couple of days, they’d have to figure something else out, but the cage would do for now.

Not too long after the power went out, Nat broke out the wine. There were five of them weathering the storm with Nat and Steve -- Bucky, Tony, Sam, Wanda, and Peter -- and all seven of them were nicely toasted by the time the rain and wind started sounding really scary. The acorns hitting the roof and rattling across the shingles made a noise that made Sam flinch; eventually he admitted that it sounded like they were taking on mortar fire.

By way of distraction, Wanda pulled out a decorative Tarot deck and started telling fortunes. Steve set up his portable burner to make soup for dinner, and everyone dug into the loaves of bread he’d baked the day before.

Tony found himself on the sofa, laughing (only a little self-consciously) as Wanda assured Bucky that the cards promised a happy marriage and three children. Tony was curled on the cushion next to Bucky, his head on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky was petting Tony’s hair, delicately teasing out the knots and tangles the wind had left in it. He really should get a haircut at some point.

[](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WdDcwcFZ2Y185bTQ)

Wanda started in on Nat’s fortune, which went slowly because Nat insisted on re-interpreting every card herself, each one getting more and more absurd. Everyone was relaxed and happy, despite the occasional monstrous howl of wind. They ate whenever they felt like it, and sipped from what seemed to be a never-ending supply of wine, and teased each other, the candlelight lending an intimate air to the party. “This’s nice,” Tony mumbled, Bucky’s fingers in his hair making him drowsy. “Kinda like a sleepover.” He had never actually been to a slumber party, but he’d seen them in movies.

“Fewer prank calls,” Steve answered, standing at the window and staring out into the darkness.

Sam snorted. “Still can’t believe you decided to call Peggy Carter that one time and talk her into walking almost a mile just after dawn because your kite was stuck in the tree.”

“Hey,” Steve protested mildly. “One, Peggy climbed trees better than I did. Two, she actually did it. And three, she wore a skirt and I got to stand at the base of the tree and watch her climb up it. That’s pretty much the pinnacle of prank call success.”

“Damn, she must’ve been _hot_ for you,” Tony said on a low whistle. He twisted around in Bucky’s lap. “You’d climb a tree for me, right?”

“Already have, darlin,” Bucky said, easily enough. “But try not to get stuck in a tree, yeah? I don’t know that I could carry you down.” He seemed to be less twitchy now that they’d done everything they could and all that was left was waiting to witness the aftermath.

“You have? When did you do tha-- Oh, yeah, Nat told me. Back when we finally talked it out and you had to go hide in Williamsburg for half a day.”

“And didn’t even bring back Pierce’s,” Steve put in mournfully.

“This is the problem with feeding strays,” Nat said. She had an ice cream pint in one hand and the spoon in her mouth -- rescuing it, she said, before it melted. She patted Steve’s arm in a very condescending manner. “They keep expecting _more food_.”

Steve scoffed. “You only stay because I bring you ice cream,” he pointed out.

“No,” Nat said, and offered him a spoonful. Tony blinked in surprise; Nat was _not_ generous with ice cream. “There are other reasons.”

Even in the candlelight, the blush that ran up Steve’s neck was obvious, but he held Nat’s gaze as he licked the ice cream from her spoon.

“Yeah,” Sam piped up, totally ruining the moment, because Sam. “He paid for you, fair and square.”

Wanda picked up one of the throw pillows from the sofa and hit Sam in the shoulder with it. “You are completely unromantic.”

“Pillow fights now,” Tony said, smug. “Totally a sleepover. Next we’re going to do our nails and talk about boys.” He considered. “Or girls, or... whatever. Equal opportunity crushing.”

“I’d talk about my crush,” Bucky said, “but he’s right here in the room, which would be rude.” Tony hid a stupid smile against Bucky’s leg.

“It’s totally me.” Steve said, striking a pose.

“True, alas,” Bucky said, pulling a stage-worthy tragic face. “Forever doomed to pine from afar, the object of my desire within reach, save for the she-devil who tempted him from my grasp.”

“Nat,” Tony complained, “give me some ice cream so I can refuse to share it with Bucky.”

Nat laughed, delighted. “My young padawan,” she said, sniffing disdainfully at Bucky and ruffling Tony’s hair. “I have for you...” She went back into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a pint and a spoon. “Mint chocolate chip.”

Tony sat up and took them from her in something like... _shock_ was probably too strong, but startled surprise. “Oh my god, you _remembered_?” Nat was so, so beautiful in the soft candlelight, smiling back at him. “No one ever remembers.” _Ty never remembered_ , he meant. Ty had bought whatever Ty wanted, and offered to share it with Tony as if he were being generous and indulgent. And it wasn’t like Tony hadn’t _enjoyed_ those flavors, but...

He was suddenly furious that it had never once occurred to Ty to get _Tony’s_ favorite. He wasn’t even certain Ty knew what Tony’s favorite _was_.

But Nat, who wasn’t even sleeping with him, for pity’s sake, _Nat_ had remembered. For weeks, _months_. He was shaking as he pried the top off the carton, vacillating between anger and affection.

“Not _nobody_ ,” Wanda said, sounding half-offended. “Your favorite color is red. And you drink your coffee black.”

“You like tiramisu cake, and your favorite dish your mom used to make was lasagna,” Steve said, from his spot at the window.

“You claim to hate Miley Cyrus,” Sam said, “even if you know all the words to ‘Wrecking Ball.’ Don’t deny it; I’ve heard you singing when you’re sweeping the porch. And you like AC/DC.”

“And you like sour gummies from Mrs. Williams’s shop, and chocolate covered coffee beans,” Bucky finished off, and then whispered in his ear, low enough to not be heard by anyone else, “and you like it best when you ride me.”

Oh, god. Oh _god_. They all knew him. They all _knew_ him. They knew _him_ , not a mouthy brat or a flirty party-boy or a malleable pet. When was the last time anyone had seen through all the walls and the masks? When was the last time he’d let himself be genuine -- and when was the last time someone had actually _wanted_ him that way? Not Ty, for certain, not even in the early months when things had been so good between them. Bruce, maybe. Rhodey, for sure. But before that? Tony was drawing a blank.

His hands were shaking too hard to hold the ice cream. He had to put it down on the table and curl into Bucky’s chest, overwhelmed and balanced on the edge of tears.

Peter, who never talked much, glanced over, gave Tony an encouraging sort of smile, then said, “Do me, next…” He pointed a finger at his sister. “Not you. You already know too much.”

And the group started listing off things they could remember about Peter; whose favorite color was metallic silver, who had a rose tattooed on his left butt cheek (he was required to pull down his pants and show it to everyone who hadn’t seen it before), who loved lime sherbet, and who refused to eat peas under any circumstance.

Nat’s favorite color was black, she liked coffee crunch ice cream but preferred tea as her morning drink, and thought chicken nuggets were the most vile thing in existence, and apparently most of the time when she was yelling in Russian, she was reciting recipes. (She scowled hard at Bucky for telling everyone that, and Bucky laughed and pretended to use Tony as a shield.)

Wanda liked scarlet (not _red_ , what did people think she did, fell in love with stop signs?) and told a long, complicated story that didn’t actually make any sense about why she hated tequila. Bucky wasn’t even ashamed of his love for eighties pop music and had blue as a favorite color and preferred sea salt caramel to all other sorts of junk food, and blushed very bright when Tony got revenge on him by whispering in his ear about his biting habit.

Then there was Sam, who loved red as well, drank orange juice straight out of the carton, and loved seventies music. Steve, who liked apple pie and baseball (really? Such a shock.) and who liked to read 17th century poetry, and had once had dreams of being an oil painter.

At Bucky’s insistence, Steve dragged out a few of his pieces of art for Tony’s viewing pleasure, along with several sketchbooks, which he passed around the room, blushing nearly as hard as he had at Nat. The paintings weren’t bad, although the stack of caricatures he’d done during a summer working at Busch Gardens were better. He had a really nice one of Bucky, that made his best friend appear halfway between being the biggest goofball ever and an anime-style bishou. It was utterly ridiculous, and Tony adored it immediately.

“You can have it, if you want,” Steve said, careless. “I see his ugly mug every day, don’t need it.”

“Yes,” Tony said quickly. He had a couple of printed-out cell phone selfie pictures of Bucky, but they were so grainy, they were barely recognizable. “No takebacks.” He batted his eyelashes at Bucky. “I’m going to hang it right by my bed.”

The storm grew worse, the wind picking up. Trees outside the apartment creaked and groaned like tortured souls. At one point, one crashed to the ground, not far away, and a car alarm protested before dying with an unpleasant squawk. Rain beat against the window so hard it seemed ready to break, and Nat insisted that Steve stop standing in front of the glass and giving her palpitations. Wanda was holding Sam’s hand, and it was anyone’s guess if that was for his comfort or hers, and the way they kept staring at each other was hinting at things that _might be_.

Since Steve had his sketchbook out anyway, he took advantage of what he called “the artistic lighting” and started roughing out the room and everyone in it. The conversation continued in fits and starts, more quietly now, until Peter fell asleep in one chair and then startled awake at another crash.

“Time for bed,” Bucky said, nudging at Tony. “Get up. You’ve put my legs to sleep.”

“You and Tony can take the guest room,” Nat said. “And there are sleeping bags and air-mattresses in the closet.”

“I’m sleeping on the sofa,” Peter said, nearly pushing his sister on the floor until she vacated her spot, dragging Sam with her to go pick through Nat’s sleeping supplies.

“Take Lucky with you,” Steve told Tony. “He can probably do without a walk tonight, but if he has to sleep in that crate, he’ll keep us all up complaining.”

Not an inaccurate assessment. Tony climbed slowly to his feet -- he’d been just about ready to fall asleep where he was -- and got Lucky while Bucky was cursing about pins and needles and doing some strange little hopping dance, presumably to cure them. Nat and Steve’s guest room served as an office and storage and an occasional studio, so it was a bit cluttered, but he managed to make Lucky a bed on the floor with a few towels they’d brought, hoping the familiar scent would keep Lucky from getting too upset by the change in routine.

Lucky laid down on command, but stared up at Tony with soulful eyes, and Tony suspected that he was going to give in and let the dog up on the bed after a while.

Bucky came up a couple of minutes later with a few scraps of bologna and a water dish for Lucky. He tossed the meat for Lucky to catch and set the water on the floor, then turned back to Tony. “Hey you,” he said, brushing his hair out of his face. “Sleepy?” And he gave Tony a hot glance from under his eyelashes.

Tony stepped into Bucky’s space, slipping his arms around Bucky’s waist. “Not if you keep looking at me like that, I’m not.”

“We’ll have to be really, really quiet,” Bucky cautioned, nipping at Tony’s ear. “Can you do that, baby, can you be quiet?” His hand traced down Tony’s spine to tease at the small of his back.

_Oh god_. “I’ll... try?” he said. Because it was all too easy to lose himself in Bucky’s hands and mouth, and Bucky _liked_ it when he was vocal, which wasn’t much of an incentive to stop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more utterly amazing art from [ssyn3](http://ssyn3.tumblr.com)! We've had so much amazing art and such fantastic responses for this fic; we're so blessed with such amazing readers, and we're damned grateful for all of you!
> 
> I know we stopped cruelly just as things were getting interesting! Sunday will pick up _right_ where this leaves off, we promise! ;-)


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Smut and Nothin' But, continuing on from the previous chapter. You already know whether that's something you want to read. :D

The walls were _thin_. Steve’s deep, rumbling voice carried straight through, even if Tony couldn’t understand what he was saying. The jack-and-jill style bathroom was between the bedrooms, so if both Nat and Steve were in bed, and at least the guest bed was on the far side, they probably wouldn’t hear _too_ much, as long as Tony didn’t scream.

Or Bucky. Tony slanted a gaze at him, because Bucky wasn’t exactly wordless either, most of the time.

“Can _you_ keep quiet?” Tony asked, half-teasing, half-curious. He slid his hands up Bucky’s sides, and around to the front to rest on Bucky’s chest.

Bucky shivered, peeled off his shirt to give Tony better access. “Maybe? I might mark you up a little, bites and...” He kissed Tony’s neck, nuzzled at his ear. “Feel so good, so intense. Need a bit of an outlet. Won’t bite, if you rather I don’t.”

Tony hummed -- quietly! -- and tipped his head for easier access. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” he promised.

Bucky tugged Tony’s tee, sliding it up slow and teasing, his fingers leaving trails of sensation in their wake. “Why didn’t you warn me that you were so addictive?” Bucky’s voice was so low, the words spoken against Tony’s ear, that they were mere shapes in the air. He tossed the shirt aside, and then his hands landed on Tony’s shoulders, almost an embrace, but not quite. Just close enough for the heat between them to swirl and grow.

God, Bucky always said stuff like that -- ridiculously overblown, melodrama-worthy things that should have been laughable but mostly just made Tony’s stomach clench with desire. “No twelve-step program can help you now,” he teased. “I’m in your blood.”

“Need my fix, then,” Bucky said. There was a long moment of stillness; Bucky drawing the moment out to savor it like wine. And then in a motion that seemed as natural and inevitable as the tide, Bucky pulled him in, a close embrace. Bucky's hands were everywhere on Tony’s skin, down his back, sliding around his shoulders, up into Tony’s hair to cradle his skull. Bucky kissed him, kissed like it was the end of the world. Urgency made Bucky clumsy at first, parted lips dragging along Tony’s neck, down to the hollow of his throat and back again. Finding nothing but willing Tony, Bucky claimed his mouth, took the deep kiss that Tony had been craving. Bucky searched, tasted, until the sensation blazed into something raw and unrestrained.

Tony swallowed a whimper and went to work on Bucky’s pants. It seemed vastly unfair how fast Bucky could get Tony to the point of begging, like fire under his skin just seeking something to consume. He slid downward, mouthing at Bucky’s skin, flicking with his tongue, letting his teeth drag from time to time, working Bucky’s pants down. He dropped the rest of the way to his knees -- oh, nice, the carpet here was softer than the throw rug in Bucky’s bedroom -- and gazed up at Bucky through his lashes. When Bucky focused on him, Tony licked up the length of Bucky’s cock like a popsicle.

Eyes almost comically wide, glowing in the single candle, Bucky exhaled, hard, then sucked in a breath, barely louder than the first. He raised one hand to touch the top of Tony’s head, the other went to his mouth where he bit down on the side of his thumb. His fingers tightened in Tony’s hair, tugging lightly, encouraging, sending prickles across Tony’s scalp.

Tony smiled, then dove back in, licking and lipping, seeking out every spot that made Bucky twitch or breathe harder. He sucked Bucky into his mouth and pushed down, three or four quick thrusts that pushed the head of Bucky’s cock against the back of his mouth, testing his gag reflex. Then he pulled off and went back to teasing at the slit with his tongue.

Bucky’s legs were quivering in moments. He reached out blindly, found the edge of Nat’s desk to lean against, fingers gripping the wood until his knuckles were white. His breath hitched with every inhale, mouth working wordlessly as he stared down at Tony. The hand on Tony’s head shifted until he was stroking Tony’s jaw, light and reverent. “Jeeeeeeeeeesus,” Bucky hissed, barely above a whisper, almost lost in the sound of rain slashing against the window.

Mm, god, Bucky was delicious. Though that was a reminder-- Tony pulled off enough to ask, “You bring stuff, or are we sticking to just mouths and hands?”

Bucky’s laugh was probably a little louder than it should have been. “In my overnight,” he said. “Nat’s been pushing both of us. I consider messing up her sheets bit of payback.”

Tony laughed with him -- what the hell, laughing wasn’t TMI -- and swallowed Bucky back down without warning, just to make him clench his hands in Tony’s hair.

“Oh, god,” Bucky gasped. “Stop, stop, I… can’t do this without a wall. Or the bed. Or _something_.” His knees were wobbling and shaky as he pulled Tony up, leaning most of his weight on Tony’s shoulders. “You are too good at that,” he added, whispering in Tony’s ear. “ _God_ ”

Tony kissed Bucky, deep and hungry, letting Bucky taste himself in Tony’s mouth, then nudged Bucky back until he all but fell onto the bed. “I think I’m just good enough,” Tony said, climbing up to straddle Bucky’s thighs and grinning down at him. “Damn, but you’re gorgeous. Nat may be onto something with all the candles.”

Bucky pulled him down to kiss, tongue caressing Tony’s lower lip, then sliding inside. His teeth grazed, nipping, sending sparks across sensitive nerves. And all the while, he ground up, pressing himself against Tony with relentless, rhythmic strokes. Tony rode him, drove him, the need swirling up to an impossible pitch. “My god,” Bucky whispered, “I want you.” He ran his thumb over Tony’s swollen lip, then kissed him again, open-mouthed, deep, wet, as if trying to draw Tony’s soul right out of his body.

Tony gasped helplessly into it, giving in to the ever-present temptation to touch. Bucky’s shoulders and arms and chest, his throat, his ears, his face, his hair. Tony couldn’t get enough.

“You’ve got me, honey,” he breathed. “I’m all yours.” He rocked down against Bucky’s body, sparks flying off his skin at the friction, the press of Bucky’s cock against his. “Oh god, I am gonna come just like this if we keep it up.” He rolled his hips again, helpless to stop, _needing_ Bucky with every atom in his body.

Bucky shivered and shuddered as Tony moved over him; the hard pressure of him, the rampant heat of his body. His expression was soft, sensation drunk and loving. Bucky kept him close with endless kisses, one blending into the other, deep and slow and still somehow impatient. Bucky reached around, breath fragmenting, as he traced the cleft of Tony’s ass, fingertip circling that tight opening to Tony’s body. “I ain’t done with you, yet,” Bucky said, teasing.

Tony groaned, and cut off sharply when Bucky whispered, “Shhh, gotta be quiet, baby.”

“Oh god, this is going to kill me,” Tony whined, as quietly as he could. “Where’s the damn--” He leaned past Bucky and hooked the overnight bag with two fingers, dragging it closer. “C’mon, honey, get me ready, I want to ride you now.”

Bucky groped blindly for his bag, dipping into the front pocket. He slicked his fingers and handed the little tube to Tony. “Don’t lose that,” he cautioned. “Aim to take my time, here, get you all slick an’ ready.” He reached between Tony’s thighs, the back of his hand brushing along Tony’s balls. Tony couldn’t help the stuttering sigh that caused, and with a knowing smile, Bucky did it again. He turned his hand to cup Tony’s balls gently, teasing, fingers pressing into Tony’s perineum, urging Tony’s body to rock, to thrust at nothing.

When Tony groaned again, deep and low and needy, Bucky sat up, covering Tony’s mouth in a kiss that did almost nothing but capture the sound, using his lips as a gag. He played, teased, slow and gentle, then wrapped a hand around Tony’s cock, twisted as the lube made it slick. “More,” Bucky said, tapping his fingers against Tony’s thigh. “Used that up. Bad me.”

“Positively naughty,” Tony agreed, squeezing another generous dollop onto Bucky’s fingers. “Behave this time.” It came out less like the teasing scold Tony was aiming for and more like desperate begging, but that was all right, Bucky would take care of him anyway.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, a little breathless, his eyes wide and dark. He circled Tony’s hole again, letting the pad of his finger drag along the puckered surface, then breached him, slow, steady, before curling against the tight pull, stroking the entrance.  Bucky touched inside, finger pushing gently past that constriction. He circled his arm around Tony’s back, sitting up and forcing Tony to bend backward, licked his way down Tony’s chest until his mouth settled over one sensitive nipple, teasing it erect with the tip of his tongue. He matched the rhythms, tongue and finger, trapping Tony between two perfect pleasure points. Bucky sucked on Tony’s nipple, hard, then soothed it again with his tongue, pushing his finger deep inside, the heel of his hand rubbing against Tony’s body. He crooked his finger, seeking Tony’s prostate and then stroking, once, twice, when he found it, teasing that unspeakably sensitive spot.

Tony writhed, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. “Oh god, Bucky, Bucky, _please_ ,” he whimpered, trying to arch into Bucky’s mouth and grind down on Bucky’s hand simultaneously. “You’ve got to-- more, _more_ , Bucky, god...” _Fuck_ but it felt good and he wanted to moan and yell and whine. “Please, baby.”

Bucky drew back his finger, causing Tony to clench down on awful nothingness, but he returned with two, after getting more lube. He scissored out, stretching, and --

_Thud!_

The sound of a headboard -- or maybe a person -- against the wall, accompanied by a deep, strained moan. High pitched, Nat giggled, and then the distinct snap of skin against skin, as if one of them had spanked the other, a little hard. Steve grunted, and then “shhhhhhhhhh, _tigryenok.”_

Bucky’s eyes widened, impossibly, and then he rolled his head back, biting at his lip, breath huffing out of his nose in short little bursts.

Tony stifled a giggle, ground down on Bucky’s fingers -- it ached, but it was _perfect_ \-- and leaned up, nuzzling his way to Bucky’s ear to whisper, “You like that? Listening in? Knowing how easy it would be for them to hear _us_? You tempted to give them something to listen to?”

Bucky nodded, frantic. He pulled Tony closer, growled in his ear. “You ever see ‘em kiss? Only time Steve don’t look like he’s got ice in his spine. So pretty. Not as pretty as you, but close. God, you feel so good, baby, so tight, so eager. You eager for me? You want it?”

“God yes,” Tony groaned, “want you in me, want to feel you.” He dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder, mouthing, kissing, dropping sharp little nips down the curve. “Come on, give it to me. Give ‘em something to hear. Little tease, huh?” He rocked down on Bucky’s fingers, and the burn was gone, leaving nothing but pleasure behind. “Want you.”

Bucky wiggled his fingers, brushing against Tony’s prostate until sparks glittered behind Tony’s eyelids. “You can’t feel me, sweetheart?” Bucky smirked, licked at his bottom lip, watching Tony strain, panting. “Okay, okay. Get me a condom, yeah?” He pulled his fingers back and out.

Tony grunted at the emptiness and pawed through the bag, groping around for the little foil pack. “Ass,” he grumbled half-heartedly, “you know what I meant.” Nope, not that. Not that. That -- what the hell was an actual ketchup pack doing in there? Ah-ha! He pulled out the condom, holding it between two fingers. “Want me to put it on you?”

Bucky leaned back until he was stretched flat on the bed and tucked his hands behind his neck. “Let you do all the work? Sounds good t’me, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. In the other room, someone had terrible rhythm as the headboard knocked a few times against the wall, and then there was a god-awful sound of furniture being dragged a few inches.

Tony almost dropped the condom, laughing. “Do they think we won’t hear _that_?” he squeaked hysterically. “Oh my god, we’re giving them so much shit tomorrow.” He managed to get the wrapper open without tearing the condom and smoothed it onto Bucky’s cock. He considered briefly rolling it down with his mouth, but this wasn’t one of the fun flavored ones; it had a nasty-tasting spermicide on it. So he settled for rolling it on slow and teasing, little half-strokes that had Bucky arching up into his hand.

“Tony,” Bucky said, voice harsh with wanting. He moved like he couldn’t possibly stay still, hands stroking up and down Tony’s thighs, teasing with the bite of his nails at Tony’s hips. One hand snaked behind Tony’s back, fingers wide and possessive against the small of Tony’s back. “God, let me…” He got one hand down between them, held the base of his dick for Tony, to line them up.

Tony wriggled into position, until the tip of Bucky’s cock caught on the edge of his hole, then pushed down, slow and easy. His eyes closed of their own volition, and he knew Bucky was watching him, and that was perfect. God, it was so good; he’d _always_ liked it like this, reveling in the ache and stretch, the desperate pounding of Bucky’s heart under his hand, both of them breathing harsh and needy.

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WMnpqbm1zMERfVE1ESTZIQXB1ZGFYQ1BVM0JF)

He couldn’t help a moan as he was fully breached, the startled little spasm of his body when the pressure suddenly eased. “Oh, god, Bucky, you feel so good.” He leaned down and captured Bucky’s mouth in a kiss, hard and fast and deep. “You want me, baby?”

Bucky kissed, licking his way into Tony’s mouth, shivering under him. “Like nothin’ else,” Bucky swore. He thrust up, a groan of relief tearing out of his throat. Both hands on Tony’s hips, he rocked them together, sweet and slick and slow, endless jolts of pressure and pleasure.

“Oh, god, _god_ , yes,” Tony hissed. He pushed himself upright, leaning back to savor every inch of Bucky’s cock pushing into him. He set his knees and rolled his body, luxuriating in the smooth drag, the bright shiver of sensation as he angled to stroke against his prostate, the quiet noises Bucky was making. “Love the way you make me feel.” _Love you_ , he thought, but he kept that behind his teeth. Too soon, too raw. Bucky wouldn’t believe it. Certainly not in the middle of sex. But he did, _god_ , so much.

A gutteral sound came from Bucky’s chest. Clutching at Tony’s hips, he drove upward, pelvis working in short, quick motions. “So gorgeous, oh, god, Tony…” His voice broke, shattered. He pulled Tony down, burying himself in the hot clutch of Tony’s body. Bucky reached a new place, deeper than he had before, and it was sore, tender, but so good at the same time that Tony’s body squeezed, held it. With every helpless movement Tony made, Bucky kept moving with him, bringing Tony up to some impossible peak. Bucky got a hand on Tony’s cock, traced faint lines with his fingertips, teasing over the head and smearing precome around. Tormenting him with flirting strokes, while his body never relented in its deep, provocative grinding.

“Bucky,” he groaned. “Fuck, how do you do that? Do you even know how good--” It was a torment that Tony wanted never to end. He could barely think, barely breathe, and all he could do was keep rocking his body, rolling his hips, trying to pull Bucky even deeper into his body, trying to thrust into the curve of Bucky’s hand. “Oh, fuck, honey, tell me you’re close...”

“Not yet,” Bucky said, teasing. He made a show of licking Tony’s precome from his fingers, returning damp and slick to play with Tony’s dick. “Hold on, hold it… don’t give in. You can do it, you can take it.” Bucky hitched upward again, faster, long strokes until he was bouncing Tony on him. “Wait…” His voice betrayed him, harsh and needy, long gasping breaths between words, eyes intent on Tony’s face.

Tony was close, so close, closer than he wanted to admit. But god, Bucky was beautiful like this, _gorgeous_ , and watching Tony’s face with something like awe. And fuck, if it would keep that expression on Bucky’s face, Tony would clench down, hold back, let Bucky drive him wild with wanting, until he couldn’t think at all. “Bucky, oh... Oh fuck, I... Oh god, it’s--” Words failed; his whole body sizzled like he was on fire. Every breath came out in a keening whine.

Bucky closed his hand gently around Tony’s dick, stroked him, slow, then faster, in counterpoint to his deep, inevitable rhythm. Faster again, deliberately ruthless, pulling Tony up to the edge. When Tony was whimpering, forgetting completely that he was supposed to be quiet, Bucky slowed his hips, his hand stilling and Tony stifled a sob. Bucky groaned at that, shockingly loud against the raging storm both outside and inside.

“I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” Bucky said. He lunged up, driving back into motion as if he’d never stopped, each movement rubbing against Tony’s body in perfect, sweet, slick motions, stroking him over and over, inside and out. “Oh, god.”

The fire was only getting hotter. Every time Tony thought it had reached a peak, it somehow found a new one. He whined and then the fire turned to liquid in his veins, so hot it felt icy for an instant, flaring through Tony like he was made of flash paper. He had no idea what sounds he made or what his body did. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the roaring of the fire; all he could feel was heat and Bucky’s sure, steady touch. When he came back to himself, he was sprawled on Bucky’s chest, still shuddering with aftershocks.

“Oh, god,” he said weakly. “Bucky, that was-- _God_.”

Bucky panted for breath, one hand rubbing soothing circles over Tony’s back. “Yeah, that was… that was somethin’ else. How dare you be so perfect?”

Tony tried for a snort and it came out more like a sniff. “ _I’m_ the perfect one, he says. What about you?” He sighed happily.

“Neither of you are perfect,” Nat’s voice came, clear through the wall. She was probably in the bathroom, leaning against the connecting door in order to be that understandable. “You are both Very Loud and owe me So Much Ice Cream.”

Bucky rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Says you, Miss Making Hurricane Babies!”

“And hurry up in there,” Tony added. “We could use a shower.”

“Ug,” Bucky said. “Gonna be a cold one. Well, lukewarm. There’s no power.”

“Serves you right,” Nat said. She flushed the toilet and then she stomped back into her own bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrible Russian Translations:  
>  _Tigryenok_ \- tiger, as a pet name


	32. Chapter 32

Nat came in, four days after the storm was over, with a picture frame under one arm. “You will not believe what I found, reading the storm news.”

Bucky glanced up; they were still doing a bit of repairs; a section of flooring in the kitchen had given way when some of the joists had gotten soaked. They had probably been decaying over the last several years before this last storm proved to be the last straw. Thank god Tony had some carpentry skills and that both Bucky and Steve were able to follow Tony’s lead. (Well, at least, Tony was capable of finding instructions on YouTube and then making sense of those instructions, which was more than Bucky could manage. Bucky’s mom had been a carpenter of no small skill, but she had always thought she’d have more time to teach those things to Bucky. She hadn’t.)

“Anything good?” Bucky pulled himself out of the hole in the floor, brushing off his jeans.

Nat turned the photograph, a few pages culled from _Coastal Virginia_ magazine. The top two thirds of the page were taken up with a full color glossy photo of Tony on his board, knees bent, just coming through the tube, storm clouds racing overhead. The bottom was the beginning of a personal interest puff piece, “Storm Prep Over, Locals Hit Up Choice Waves.”

> Restaurant owner James Barnes turns his employees loose to hit the beach after two days of frantic activity getting the reclusive beach town of Sandbridge ready for the oncoming Hurricane Franklin. Barnes and crew plan to evacuate and ride the storm out away from the coast -- after they finish riding the waves! Accompanied on the beach by their “pizza dog,” Lucky, the group included cook Steve Rogers, his fiancée Natalia Romanov, former Air Force pilot Samuel Wilson, and Tony Edwards, seen here, as well as the owner/operator.
> 
> When asked about their plans for the hurricane, Romanov threw this reporter a peace sign and declared that power outages were great for drinking wine and eating ice cream. This reporter thinks that sounded like a good idea!
> 
> Barnes, whose restaurant Dockside is a favorite tourist spot in Sandbridge, claims confidence in the face of nature’s wrath. “We’ve done all we can do,” he said, eager to get back to the waves. “It’s in Providence’s hands, now.”
> 
> Other local retailers are not so confident. DeeDee Williams, owner of The Sweet Tooth
> 
> (cont. Page 27)

“Hey, babe!” Bucky yelled, half leaning over the hole under the restaurant's floor. “Come take a peek at this.”

“I thought we could hang it on the brag wall,” Nat suggested.

“Oh, absolutely, it’s going on the wall,” Bucky said.

Tony squirmed his way through the crawlspace and sat up. “What’s that?” Bucky turned the frame toward him, and his eyes got big. “Oh, shit.” He gaped at Nat. “Why. Why would you do this to me. Tell me you’re not going to hang it _here_.”

“Well, your form is not what it should be. You have not been practicing your pops, but I will excuse this, as you have had very little time. Next season, you will look better, or it will reflect badly on my teaching. But it is certainly worthy. You look very pretty, Antonishka.” Nat held out her hand to retrieve the photo from Bucky.

Tony turned his eyes on Bucky, big and round. “You’re not going to let her do that to me, are you?”

“‘Course I am,” Bucky said. “You think I want to watch her sulk for the next two weeks if I don’t let her? Besides, you’re part of the family; we keep everyone’s positive press on the wall.” He kept his smile in place, trying not to remember the scads of articles about his arrest he had carefully clipped and saved after the fact. He wasn’t sure why; they were a malignant reminder of everything that happened and he never read them if he could avoid it, but still, he kept them all, tucked away in a sealed envelope. But the wall was for triumphs and smiles, and had such other treasures as Sam’s casual, his arm around his wingman, Riley, just in front of their fighter jets; Bucky’s high school graduation; and Sarah Rogers with her arm around a much younger Steve, when he’d gotten an award in grade school for art. They had a few of Nat from her student days, clipped from the college’s newspaper. And of course, dozens of his parents and their friends, from back when Dockside was new.

“Ugh, you’re awful,” Tony complained, pouting. Bucky was pretty sure he was bitching just for the sake of bitching, and that if he really objected, he’d say so more seriously.

Tony hoisted himself out of the floor with a flex of muscle that hadn’t yet failed to make Bucky’s mouth water. “Where the hell did they take that from, anyway? There wasn’t anyone else on the beach.” He washed his hands and splashed his face. “If we’re taking a break, I’m getting a water. You want one?”

“We’re out, in here,” Steve said, finishing his inventory of his kitchen. “There’s a couple flats out in Bucky’s truck.” He flipped a page. “I think we’re gonna need to call the cheese a loss, Buck. There’s water in the packaging. Need to find that leak.”

“Ug, hot water,” Tony grumbled, but he pushed out the back door angled for the parking lot anyway.

A car pulled into the lot as Tony headed out, but Bucky dismissed it. If it was a friend, they’d come in, and Tony would turn away any tourists stupid enough to show up in a storm-stricken town just because they’d already paid for vacation. (They did that, sometimes. Most of the rental properties had strict no-refund policies, storms or no storms, and sometimes out-of-towners would insist on staying anyway. Usually the owners would put ‘em to work with storm clean up and they’d quickly decide to vacation elsewhere. Renters who actually pitched in and helped would get big discounts for the next year or jumped to the top of the list for the next available slot. It all worked out in the end.)

Bucky reviewed the inventory sheet that Steve held out to him, opened his mouth to say something and inhaled sawdust. He coughed and looked around for Tony and the bottles of water. He wasn’t back. Either some tourist was giving him shit, or he’d been trapped into one of those maundering conversations with a local who’d want a full report on damage here, and to tell Tony all about the damage at their place, and…

Bucky shoved himself to his feet. Ug. He was already tired, and it was barely lunchtime. That was probably his own fault, as he’d teased Tony into a little secret rendezvous (not really secret, but it had been past two before they’d finally collapsed in sweat and exhaustion.) He pushed the door open, walked down the porch ramp and-- stopped.

Tony’s body was held rigidly, his arms at his sides like sticks, hands clenched. His back was to Bucky. The person he was talking to was standing close, too close, his hand on Tony’s shoulder, talking quietly, earnestly. Blond. Tall. Muscular. Not quite as tall as Steve, but close, and he was looming over Tony in a possessive manner that made Bucky’s protective instinct kick into overdrive. What the hell was going on?

Bucky took a few steps closer; the blond man’s voice was low, intimate, wheedling, but Bucky still couldn’t catch the words. “Hey, Tony,” Bucky said. “You need help bringin’ that water in?”

***

Tony was going to hide Nat’s ice cream or draw a stupid cartoon face on her surfboard or... something. Mostly for that stupid picture, but also because she’d apparently taken the last cold water out of the fridge without replacing it _again_. God, she was such a brat. And it was even hotter and _more_ humid under the crawlspace than outside. How was that fair? It was shaded, it should have been a _little_ cooler.

Muttering, Tony dropped the tailgate on Bucky’s truck and leaned in to drag a case of bottled water closer. The crunch of car tires on the parking lot pavement sounded behind him, but he ignored it. Water. He managed to get the case close enough to punch a hole in the plastic wrap and drag out a bottle, just as the car door slammed. Damn it, he’d had it about up to here with the tourists complaining that the place wasn’t open.

He cracked the bottle and took a swig. Maybe if he ignored them, the tourist would go away.

“You’re looking very well,” said a voice that Tony didn’t want to hear. “The air down here must agree with you.”

Tony turned around, very carefully. “Ty,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ty’s eyes widened and his mouth drooped, hurt. He was wearing a linen shirt and a tailored sportcoat that Tony didn’t recognize. Guess he’d gotten that promotion. Ty was probably awfully hot in the pounding sun. Tony couldn’t quite manage to sympathize, though. “I came to see _you_ , Tony. It’s been so long -- do you know how worried I was?”

Tony’s hands were shaking. He put the water bottle down on the tailgate so it wouldn’t be so obvious. “I’m fine, see? You can go away now.”

“Tony, is that any way to treat me?” Ty stepped closer, and Tony refused to back down. “I know you were mad at me,” he said, pulling his big-eyed hangdog _how can you be mad at me_ look. It was remarkably similar to Lucky’s big-eyed _I didn’t_ mean _to eat your dinner while you were getting a drink_ expression. “I probably deserved that, after everything. But you didn’t have to run away, sweetmeat. We could have worked it out. You know I never meant to hit you.”

“Actually, I do,” Tony said. Fury glared white-hot behind his eyes. “But you _did_ mean to cut me off from my friends, and you _did_ mean to keep me under your thumb like some kind of _pet_ or _toy_.”

Ty put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony refused to flinch. “Oh, Tony,” Ty said softly. “You’ve got it all backwards, you know. _I’ve_ always belonged to _you_. Everything I did, it was for you.”

“Hey Tony,” said Bucky’s voice behind him, and Tony’s knees nearly went weak with relief. “You need help bringin’ that water in?”

Tony stepped carefully out from under Ty’s hand, one step closer to Bucky. “No, I just need to take out the trash first.” He reached out behind him, trusting, and Bucky’s hand took his, easy and simple, although Bucky was shaking, almost as hard as Tony himself. He kept his eyes on Ty as Bucky came up beside him. “How did you find me, Ty?”

Bucky inhaled. “Oh, so this is Ty?” He gave Ty a long assessment, taking in everything from his sharp, little-too-pricey shoes, designer jeans, hipster glasses. “Huh.” Bucky sounded like he’d taken the measure of Tiberius Stone and found him wanting.

For that alone, that world of disdain packed into a single syllable, Tony would have loved Bucky forever. “ _How_?”

Ty smiled, impish. Tony had thought that smile was charming, once. “Saw your picture online, actually,” he said. “Pure serendipity, a little AP puff piece about--”

“Surfing and the hurricane,” Tony interrupted. God, he wanted to puke. “We’re done, Ty. I thought that was pretty clear already, but since you didn’t seem to get it: _we’re done_. Go home and leave me alone.”

The door opened again, creaking on its hinges and a quick tattoo of smaller feet crossing the patio preceded the arrival of Nat, Steve just behind her, slower. She put on her performing-for-customers drawl and said, “S’there a problem, sugah?”

Ty’s eyes flicked sideways, registering Nat, and then Steve. Even Ty had to know a losing battle when he saw one, right?

“Well, aren’t you adorable,” he said smoothly. He turned back to Tony. “You have to know how scared I was for you, baby. I even went to see your dad, in case you’d gone home.”

Tony stiffened. “And he didn’t have you thrown off the property?” He was fronting, there, and they both knew it. Jesus, if Ty was in contact with his dad, if Ty told Howard where to _find him_... Oh, that could be bad. That could be so very bad.

Ty’s eyes were round and so, so blue. “Even a bastard like Howard worries about his son, Tony. We just want what’s best for you, even if we don’t agree on what that is.”

“Funny,” Bucky said. “Turns out I don’t agree what that is, either. From you, or Tony’s dad.”

Ty blinked at Bucky, a heavy-lidded, dismissive sneer. “And you are...?”

“James Barnes,” Bucky said. “Owner/operator, and Tony’s boyfriend. We know who _you_ are.”

Ty’s eyebrows lifted and he covered his mouth with his hand, somehow managing to appear both _concerned_ and _horrified_ , the fuckhole. “Oh, Tony, what did you do, honey? You didn’t... you didn’t have to go to those kind of lengths. Come on home, and I promise everything will be okay.”

“You seriously did not just suggest that I prostituted myself for a job,” Tony growled.

“Well you can’t _blame_ me for worrying,” Ty said. “It looks _bad_ , baby, you without even an ID, working under the table for scraps?”

“Tony can make his own choices,” Steve said, finally joining the group and doing his impressive loom, biceps flexing as he twisted the dish towel in his hands. Strange how it had seemed so frightening at one time, but now, Tony felt sheltered. Protected. “He keeps telling you he wants to stay. Suggest you listen.”

Ty sized Steve up, cautious and somehow contemptuous at the same time, the way he’d face down a posturing gang member on the subway. “It would really be in your best interests to let me take him home,” Ty said. “Tony’s _such_ a darling, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but over time, he’s just _terribly_ exhausting to take care of. So high maintenance, and it looks like you’ve got plenty of maintenance to do here already, without having to add him to the list. You wouldn’t believe all the work I’ve had to put in, these last years.”

Everything seemed to happen all at once. Bucky’s hand had been squeezing Tony’s shoulder, light but comforting, and then his hand came up to curl into a fist. “You son a bitch!” Bucky snapped. “You’ve done nothing for Tony, you know _nothing_ about him!”

Ty’s mouth curled into a smirk, an inward laugh at a joke none of the rest of them would find the least bit amusing. He took a small step forward, taunting Bucky, _daring_.

“Bucky, no!” Nat was there, suddenly, grabbing at Bucky’s arm. “You can’t. You must not hit this… creature. It is not worth it, he is not worth the trouble, you will--”

Ty’s face scrunched in disgust. “Bucky, really? _Bucky_? Tony, darling, tell me you’re not seriously abandoning me for this... redneck white trash.”

Nat whirled.

Bucky had told Tony that when Nat was really angry, she didn’t yell, she just acted.

Her fist shot out and connected solidly with Ty’s jaw. “Suka, blyad,” she growled, low and harsh. “Don’t you talk about my home this way!” Tony hadn’t even seen her step past him; she had just _appeared_ there.

“Woah, no fair,” Bucky complained, absolutely flabbergasted. “How come _you_ get to hit him?”

Ty staggered, and would have fallen if he hadn’t bounced into the car instead. “You _bitch_ ,” he snarled. “I will have your _skin_ for that!”

“Ah, there’s the real Ty,” Tony said. As charming as Ty could be when he exerted himself, the facade always crumbled into some petty tantrum. Tony had known that about him even before realizing that Ty’s behavior was outright abusive. “For the last time, Tiberius: Go. Away. I’m not going back to New York, with you or anyone else. I’m already home.”

Steve evaluated the scene, studying it like Tony might have with an engine schematic. “You’re not making yourself popular here,” Steve pointed out. “And you’ll find that all us locals tend to pull together against outsiders. There’s nothing here for you. Tony doesn’t want to go, and we’re not going to let you take him.”

Ty opened his mouth--

“Son, just don’t,” Steve said, crossing his massive arms over his chest.

Tony grinned at Ty’s poleaxed expression. “If I wasn’t in a deliriously happy relationship, and you weren’t so tragically straight,” he told Steve solemnly, “I would kiss you right now.”

“Yup, gonna dye my hair blue,” Steve responded, and Tony had to stifle a giggle at the puzzled glances Bucky and Nat exchanged. Steve waited a beat, then said, “What are you still _doing_ here? _Go_. My god, Tony, you said he was awful, but you didn’t say he was _stupid_.”

“Well, he didn’t used to be _this_ dumb.” What was the local expression...? Oh, yes. “Bless his heart. Maybe it’s the heat,” Tony said. “It does strange things to people who aren’t used to it.”

Ty dabbed at his bleeding lip and finally, _finally_ left. He turned on his heel and got into his car. He threw it in reverse and spun gravel, forcing all of them to back away hastily. The rocks plinked against Bucky’s truck and Steve made a muffled grunt as one of them struck him in the leg. Just before Ty peeled away, he rolled down the window and yelled, “You will regret this, Anthony Stark! I swear, you will rue the day!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Rue the day? Did he really just say ‘rue the day’? Like, who says that?”

Tony laughed, halfway to hysterical. “Oh my god, what a fucking drama queen.” He reached out, groping, and grabbed at Bucky’s shirt, desperate for contact, for support, before his knees completely gave out.

Bucky caught him, just before Tony slid to the ground. “You okay, sweetheart?” He practically picked Tony up and sat him on the tailgate, standing in the vee of Tony’s knees. “He didn’t… do anything, before I got out here?”

Tony shook his head. “No, he just... snapped his fingers and expected me to heel.” He laughed again. “God, what a fucknut. How the hell did I ever think he was... _anything_ I could want?”

“We all make mistakes,” Bucky said.

“Yes,” Nat agreed. “We all have made mistake. My mistake? Tucking my thumb in. Ow, that… that hurts!” Nat shook her fingers out, winced and cradled the arm to her chest.

Steve glared in the direction of Ty’s departing car, then back down to Nat’s hand. “If you broke your hand on that idiot’s head, I’m going to track him down and punch him again. Come on, let’s get you some ice on that.” He put an arm around Nat’s shoulders and led her back toward the kitchen.

Bucky pulled Tony into a tight embrace, cupping the back of his neck. “I’m so, so proud of you, sweetheart. That can’t have been easy.”

Tony shivered and tucked his face into Bucky’s neck. “It was... easier than I thought. I saw him, and I thought... why would I want that, when I have _this_? I mean, I spent seven years catering to his fragile ego and temper tantrums because I thought he was my only choice. But I looked at him and realized, he didn’t... he didn’t have any power over me.” He squeezed Bucky tighter. “But adrenaline letdown _sucks_.”

“Yeah, it sure does, baby. Look, there’s nothin’ inside that won’t still be there in a few hours,” Bucky said. “If you need to just, chill for a bit. Take as much time as you need, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to Tony’s forehead. He cradled Tony’s head, then sighed. “You know, I have too much wrong time on my hands… it’s not the right time for it, but it never is, so...  I’m not sayin’ anything you need to say back, or anything. Just want you to know. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened for me. You told him you’re home. You _are_ my home. I love you, Tony Stark.”

Tony barked out a shaky laugh. “Oh, god, do you know how long I’ve been trying not to say that because it would be too soon?” He looked up at Bucky, and if his eyes were watering, that was no one’s business but theirs. “I love you, too.” Carefully, he cupped Bucky’s face in his hands, then pulled Bucky to him and kissed him. Slow, and deep, and as sweet as Tony knew how to make it.

When Bucky came up for air, he was shaking, lower lip delightfully kiss-swollen and red. “You gonna let Nat hang that picture now? Symbol of your bravery, or what?”

Tony traced Bucky’s lip with his thumb. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t really be family if they didn’t insist on showing everyone embarrassing pictures.”

“Pretty much,” Bucky said. “Can’t get rid of us now.” He stepped back to let Tony hop down. “Let’s get out of this sun, before we get burned, yeah?” He grabbed the flat of water and tucked it under one arm, leaving his other arm free to sling around Tony’s shoulders, pulling him into that familiar, comforting embrace.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation: _Suka, blyad_ \-- bitch, motherfucker
> 
> No, really, that's it for Ty, at least for this fic. He'll make another appearance in a later fic. :D


	33. Chapter 33

The season was winding down. It was still hot as fuck during the day -- the heat probably wouldn’t break until mid to late October -- but at least it wasn’t horrible at night anymore.

Bucky was in his office, ostensibly doing the books, but in reality, watching Tony sweep the floor. Nat had finally lost her cool a few weeks back and dragged Tony out to Norfolk to get a haircut, some new jeans, and a pair of decent shoes that would hold up for long hours of standing and walking. Bucky didn’t know about the shoes, but he did like watching Tony’s ass in the new jeans, cleanly outlined and perky.

Besides, the books were depressing.

Between the fire and the storm, they were still hurting. They weren’t _quite_ in debt, but profits were going to stretch lean during the winter months. A couple of local events in the autumn might make a difference, and Steve’d gotten short-listed for a sponsored Grill-off. There was a pretty hefty cash prize for that, of which Dockside would take half. But they might have to close for a few months, mid-winter, just to save on the power bills and employee salaries. Bucky’s parents had never had to do that, and it would make things tough for all his employees. Steve and Nat would probably stick it out with him, but he might lose Wanda and definitely Sharon if he couldn’t keep them in hours.

The door chime jingled; it was late, they were technically open for about five more minutes, but business had been slow all night, and the stove had already been shut down. The grill would be stone cold by now, so there wasn’t much chance Bucky would turn it back on for a late-comer.

“Hey, Goldilocks,” said a voice that Bucky recognized immediately. “Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed.”

Tony rather pointedly kept sweeping. “Sorry, we’re closed for the night.”

“Closed? How are you closed to me, slick? I know the owner!” That was a very good snotty tourist accent, someone for whom knowing the owner was supposed to encourage obsequious behavior. Not, generally, Bucky’s style. He couldn’t get out of his desk chair; he was trying too hard not to laugh.

“If you’re looking for late dinner,” Tony said, “there’s Neptune’s Cove up the street a bit; they seat until midnight.”

“Well, this looks bad.”

Bucky finally managed to get to his feet. He strode into the dining area, bringing his best glare with him. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said.

“Aw, boss, no,” Clint complained, then grinned, opening his arms and running over to Bucky for a hug. “Knew I shoulda called first.”

“You fucking _asshole_ ,” Bucky said, pounding Clint on the back.

“Wait, you’re the infamous Clint?” Tony said wryly. “Huh. I thought you’d be taller.”

Bobbi, Clint’s girlfriend, was medium tall, with honey brown hair, and was wearing weirdly blue sunglasses even though it had been dark outside for at least two hours. She tilted the glasses down on her nose and grinned. “Bobbi Barton,” she said, offering Tony her hand. “New hire?”

Bucky, who’d practically lifted Clint off the floor, let go of him suddenly. “Did I hear that right? Did… Clint!” He cuffed Clint in the back of the head. “Bad enough you run off, but you  _got married_ and didn’t even call us? _Asshole_.”

“Hey Bucky,” Bobbi said, her hand still locked around Tony’s wrist. She did that, and if Tony had a watch worth stealing, Bucky would be warning him to keep his hand on it. “Sorry, it was kinda a drunken bit of crazy at three in the morning. We could probably still get it annulled.”

“No takebacks, Bobbi!” Clint protested. “So, who’s the city slicker who’s holed up in my house?”

“That’d be me,” Tony said. His mouth curved like he was amused, but his eyes were darting around cautiously. “Took your job, too. And good luck getting your dog back.”

Clint’s mouth dropped open. “You gave away my dog? That’s just _cold_ , Bucky.”

“Talk to Lucky about it,” Bucky suggested. “He was heartbroken when you left. Tony’s been all that’s keepin’ him calm, so yeah, think you kinda bought that trouble yourself. How was Nevada?”

“Hot,” Clint said. “Except when it was cold. I don’t like it much. Thought I’d come home.”

Bucky groaned. More of that _bad timing_. He’d been considering what to do, as September drew closer, but hadn’t gotten around to it. He didn’t want to push.

“Well, you’ll need to find something else for right now,” Bucky said. “Give Nat a call. I’m sure she and Steve can put you two up for a while. You know, provided she doesn’t drop kick you into the sound for getting married without telling anyone.”

Tony was watching him; he could feel Tony’s gaze practically burning a hole in the side of his head. “I... could stay with you tonight,” he said, quiet and tentative, even though he slept at Bucky’s more than half the time anyway, “and we can sort out all the details tomorrow.” He quirked a small smile. “I mean, Nat might kill him outright, and then no one would have to move anything.”

“I'm not throwing you out of your home, Tony,” Bucky said. “Clint chose to leave. If he forgot that actions have consequences, or didn't consider them before acting, that's on him.”

Tony glanced at Clint and Bobbi, who were both looking bemused by Bucky’s little speech, then back at Bucky. “I didn’t think you were,” he said. “But you can’t tell me Clint isn’t one of yours, and he should get to come home, too, honey.”

“You know,” Clint said, slowly, “I didn't actually come here to pick a fight.”

“Hawkeye,” Bobbi said, “that's why you go _everywhere_. Stop acting like an ass.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a legal-sized envelope. “You're not being replaced. No one's replacing you. You're still Bucky's family.” She handed the envelope to Tony. “Give this to Bucky. Don't let him tear it up or anything stupid, okay?”

Tony lifted his eyebrows at her, then slowly opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it, and another piece of paper fluttered free to fall to the floor, just exactly the size of a cashier’s check. Tony scooped it up quickly, then scanned the note and handed it -- but not the check, if that’s what it was -- to Bucky.

“What is this?”

“Can you believe it? So unfair. I spent _months_ getting in on a high stakes poker game. Weeks of research, learning my competition. This idiot goes into the casino to get free drinks. Plonks six dollars into a slot machine out of _boredom_ , and wins two and a half million dollars.”

“Bobbi Barton, only you would complain about that,” Clint said. “So… we owe you. Between you and your dad.”

Tony unfolded the check, and his eyebrows went way, way up. He folded it back up and pointed at Bucky. “You can have this when you’ve proven you can handle it.”

Bucky stared at Clint. “You have money? I mean, I know you have _money_ , I meant…”

“Well, I have money now,” Clint shot back, a little guilty, “like, money. Money.”

Bucky blinked again. He’d stepped on a jelly fish, once, when he was ten or so. This was like that: a soft brush and then sudden, searing pain. Only this pain was in his head. “Clint, you’re a thief and an ex-carnie. How did you win _two million dollars_?”

“Dumb luck, emphasis on dumb,” Clint said. “That’s me. But me an’ Bobbi, we thought we’d -- well, we thought we’d stay here while we set it up, but we wanna buy one of the rentals, down the beach. We’ll rent it out, go traveling when we want to, an’ come home, when we’re bored. We thought you might… manage it for us, while we were gone? If that’s… if that’s a thing. That you’d want to do for us. I mean, we’d pay you for that, an’ all. I know it’s more work.”

“I don’t know anything about managing property,” Bucky said, numb. He glanced at Tony, who was patting his pocket, his mouth twisting up into an unbearably smug grin.

“You didn’t know anything about running a restaurant until you decided to take that on,” Bobbi pointed out. “You’re smart. Me, I get bored too easily. And Clint, well…” She smiled fondly at her (dear lord) husband. “You two talk it over. We’ll get a hotel and see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” Clint whirled around, stared at Tony, then looked back at Bobbi. “Why would they talk it over?”

“Hawkeye...” Bobbi started, then threw up her hands in defeat. “Oh, nevermind, I’ll explain it to you when you’re older. G’nite, Bucky. Tony.” And she grabbed Clint’s wrist and dragged him out.

Tony leaned on the broom and gave Bucky a smile. “I think I like her.”

“The rental, that’s gotta be her idea. Clint… Clint cannot be trusted with money. Much less _money_ ,” Bucky said. His head still hurt. “What… How much… What does Clint Barton think he owes me?” There, that came out sounding not quite so horribly greedy. A couple thousand dollars could go a long way to fixing the shortage over the winter.

Tony left the broom against the counter and walked over to slip his arms around Bucky’s waist. “If I tell you, do you promise to actually keep it?”

That… sounded worrisome. Bucky shoved it aside, for the moment. “I was actually planning to ask you if you wanted to move in with me, you know, before Clint came home. I just… don’t want you to think it was in response to his showing up. It’s your home, and you can stay there as long as you want to.”

“You were?” Again with the tone of suprise.

Bucky added one more note to his mental complaint of _why did Nat get to hit Ty_? Tony always seemed astonished by little kindnesses, things that should have been normal, or at least, not momentous. “Yeah, I was.”

“Mm, okay.” Tony leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Though it kind of sounds like they’re not going to need a place for very long, anyway.”

“They might not need a place,” Bucky said, putting his arms around his boyfriend, “but I kinda need _you_ in my place.”

“That sounds... good,” Tony said. He tipped his head up for a kiss, hands working their way slowly under Bucky’s shirt to splay warm across the small of Bucky’s back.

“Yeah?” Bucky slowly bent Tony backward, kissing, making Tony cling to him in order to keep from falling over. Feeling the heat of Tony’s body through his clothes, listening to the way their hearts pounded, feeling the way his breath raced in and out of his lungs. He teased at Tony’s mouth with his tongue and slid an eager hand down Tony’s chest, wondering if Tony might be interested in maybe getting fucked bent over Bucky’s desk--

The bells on the front door chimed. “Hello?” Tony went stiff in Bucky’s arms.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Bucky exclaimed, pulling Tony upright and glaring at a thin black man with a stubborn jaw, a beaky sort of nose and a close-shaved haircut. “We are _closed_.”

But Tony put a hand on Bucky’s chest and pushed gently until Bucky let go entirely, his eyes locked on the intruder’s face and starting to tear up. He took a step toward the man, tentative. “Rhodey?” A shaking hand covered his mouth. “You came.”

It was a name Bucky had heard, but not often. A college friend, from before Ty. One of the people that Tony had lost, because of Ty. The man -- Rhodes -- smiled gently and opened his arms, and Tony flew into them. “You’re here,” Tony said again, voice muffled in Rhodes’ shoulder. “You really came.”

Rhodes ruffled Tony’s hair gently. “Course I did, Tone,” he said. “Course I did.” He stared at Bucky over Tony’s shoulder, appraising. Challenging.

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, shoving it back off his face. So much for seducing his boyfriend. “Hi. James Barnes. My friends call me Bucky. You want me to put on coffee, yeah, sweetheart?”

Tony beamed at him. “I’ll lock the door so we don’t have any more wanderers,” he said.

Rhodes strode over -- very military posture -- and offered his hand. “James Rhodes. Call me Jim. I’ve heard some good things. Sorry to stop by so late, but military transport...” He shrugged. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to let Tony know I was in town.”

“Not a problem,” Bucky said. “If you want a coffee, that’s easy. Much’a anything else’ll have to wait ‘til my cook turns the oven back on tomorrow. Or if you and Tony wanna talk, there’s some places up to the beach that are open later. You can have the day, tomorrow, sweetheart, if you want it. I can call Sam.” He ducked into his office, grabbed his smokes and dropped into his chair to shut down the aging computer. He needed a couple of minutes to calm down; his pulse was racing and his dick was a little too interested, still. Eventually the computer screen was dark and he might be able to walk like a normal adult and not a mess of hormones.

Tony was talking at Rhodes as fast as he could -- which was damned fast -- and waving his arms around, his whole face lit with excitement. When Bucky came back out of the office, Tony said, “Hold that thought!” and zipped across the room to throw his arms around Bucky’s neck and kiss him. “You’re perfect and I love you,” he said into Bucky’s ear, “and I know you just got cockblocked and I will _so_ make it up to you later. Promise.”

“M’ fine, babydoll,” Bucky said. “Just got a headache from these damn books.” Not to mention _Clint_. “I wouldn’t be much entertaining company. You take your friend and go up to the beach. I’ll leave the door upstairs unlocked for you. Just text me if you plan to stay out all night, hmm, so I don’t worry?”

Tony waved his phone at Bucky -- less than a week old, because it had taken a stupidly long time for Tony to untangle the mess of his identification documents. The DMV had wanted a birth certificate for proof, and the Office of Records had wanted a Social Security Card, and the Social Security office had wanted a picture ID. Tony dropped another kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “We’ll all do lunch or dinner or something tomorrow,” he promised. “You guys are going to love Rhodey. He tried like hell to keep me away from Ty.”

“I’m adding another tick to my counter of Why Did Nat Get To Punch Him and Not Me,” Bucky informed Tony, crisply. “Okay, okay. Y’all scoot. Have fun. ‘M gonna go have a smoke and inform Lucky that he’s about to be in the middle of a custody battle. Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too,” Tony said, then linked arms with Rhodes the same way he always did with Nat, and tugged the man out of the restaurant, chattering brightly about Nat punching Ty and his tentative plan to take part-time classes at a local university and the dubiously-legal method he’d used to track down Rhodes’ email address. It was startlingly quiet when they’d gone.

Bucky finished closing down and locking up, then went upstairs to get Lucky for a walk. He got the leash clipped, and as he pulled his pack of smokes from his breast pocket, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. The check that Bobbi had handed over to Tony. Check-paper had a particular shape and thickness to it that was unmistakable. Bucky picked it up, still folded, and started down the stairs, toward the beach.

When he reached the next street light, a good block down, he opened the paper.

And almost fell over.

Holy. Holy… Jesus… Bucky didn’t know words. He didn’t have… any.

Very _very_ carefully, he put the check in his wallet and pulled out his phone.

_Nat, you need to come over here. Now. I think I’m hallucinating. I need you to verify that Clint just gave me a check for a. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars._

Nat: _Did he steal it?_

_Bobbi sd he won it at slots._

Nat: _Then yes, that sounds like something Clint would do. They are back in town? We will come out tomorrow._

Nat: _I am going to be having the sex soon. Go away._

Bucky took a deep breath. He didn’t… _entirely…_ want to take that sort of money from Clint, but… The way Bobbi had handed it off let Bucky believe they didn’t particularly want him to even make a token protest.

So, he wouldn’t.

Bucky finished walking the dog. Smoked his cigarette.

And went home.

 


	34. Chapter 34

Rhodey had been traveling for about thirty hours straight before he’d wound up at Dockside, and was desperately in need of sleep, so Tony took him up the road for a drink and a plate of appetizers, just long enough for Tony to give him the rundown on the last few months, and then brought him back to the apartment. Tony had insisted on putting him up -- the summer was pretty much over, but the hotels still had terribly inflated prices, and anyway, Tony wanted to keep him near at hand. Tony gave Rhodey the fastest tour of the apartment possible -- there’s the bed, there’s the bathroom, some water in the mini-fridge, and I’ll see you in the morning -- and Rhodey gave Tony one more hug and then fell onto the bed and was asleep in seconds.

Tony stood in the door for a moment, still not entirely able to believe it. Four, almost five years since Rhodey had given up arguing with Tony about Ty’s bullshit, had stopped trying to worm his way into Tony’s life when Ty was fighting to keep him out. But he’d come. Because Tony had asked him to. Without a complaint and ready to help in any way he could, because he was Tony’s friend.

If only Tony had understood what that meant, five or six years ago. Well, he knew now, and he was never going to let Rhodey out of his life again.

He took a long breath and quietly closed the door, then crossed the walkway to Bucky’s. The light was still on inside -- not unreasonable; they’d only been gone an hour -- so Tony tapped on the door a couple of times in warning before he opened it. “Honey, I’m home.” A new frisson went through him at the tired old line: this really _was_ home, or would be soon. Bucky wanted him to move in.

Bucky was on the sofa, the dog curled up at his feet. Lucky perked his ears and thumped his tail on the floor as Tony entered the room, but didn’t seem inclined to move. “Hey,” Bucky said, voice a little hoarse, tucking something against his chest. “Wasn’t expecting you to make an early night of it. How was your visit?”

“Great,” Tony said. He sat on the sofa and kissed Bucky in greeting. “He’s just exhausted from the trip. I put him in the apartment for tonight, and we’ll catch up more tomorrow. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He brushed his fingers across his cheeks, as if to catch tears that weren’t there. “Jus’ thinking, s’all. Guess you saw. The check, I mean.”

“You’re not thinking of doing something noble and stupid like refusing it, are you?” Tony leaned against Bucky’s side, getting comfortable.

Bucky turned the picture frame he was holding so Tony could see it. “Ma would smack me upside the head if I did anything that stupid,” he said. “She knew Steve, and she met Nat a few times, just before she died, but she never met any of the other strays we’ve picked up over the years. But I think she would have liked them… all of them. Even Clint. She loved _this place_. Anyone who called it home would be in her good graces.”

The woman taking up most of the photograph was maybe late forties, early fifties. She had a familiar face: the same kind eyes, the same dark hair, scraped back from her face into a ponytail. She was looking coyly over her shoulder at the photographer, half a smile on her lips. Behind her rose Dockside, not quite new, but less ragged and storm-worn than it currently was. It made Tony smile. “She looks nice,” Tony said. “Definitely see the resemblance.” He kissed Bucky’s shoulder.

“This was taken...” Bucky was silent, remembering, He brushed his fingers over the glass. “Oh, I think right before Steve’s mom passed on. My parents fostered Steve, later that year. Couldn’t find Joe Rogers anywhere, so we couldn’t adopt him. Things got a little tighter after Steve came to live with us, so there were some upgrades Ma wanted to do that got put off and put off and never happened. I was just… talking to her. Seeing what she thought. Silly, right? Talking to a photograph.”

“Yes, this is clearly the most ridiculous thing I’ve encountered here,” Tony said drily, then bumped Bucky’s shoulder. “I think it’s sweet, actually. You were close, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “She was somethin’ else, my Ma. Tough and smart and put up with exactly zero shit, but at the same time, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. This place, this was her dream. Somewhere in there--” He gestured in the direction of the back hall of the house, toward closed doors he hadn’t even opened for Tony yet. “--I have the original plans. Even the ones she made when she was knee high to a grasshopper.” His mouth wobbled a little. “I ain’t talked about it much, because I didn’t want anyone to worry, but… we haven’t exactly been making bank here. And with the fire, an’ everything, I thought we might have to close down.” He gave a dark, bitter sort of chuckle.

That probably shouldn’t hurt so much. Tony had only been here a few months. But god, he loved this place, and he loved these people, and he couldn’t bear the idea. He couldn’t imagine how much it must hurt Bucky. “But it’s going to be okay now,” he said, not quite making it a question, not nearly brave enough for that.

“Yeah, I think it will. Works out best if we get Clint on record as an _investor_ , for taxes and that sort of thing. But that means all the money, _all_ of it, has to go into the restaurant. Or, you know, most… might be able to do _some_ fun stuff, call it bonus or employee morale or somethin’. But if I just cash it out, the government will take a big fuckin’ bite.” He looked down at the picture. “We can do a lot of upgrades with this.”

Tony nodded. He’d gone to school for engineering, but he’d grown up breathing business.  “Repairs and upgrades and maybe even an advertising budget,” he mused. “Put that into the restaurant, and the restaurant will generate more for you that the government _won’t_ be able to take. Well, not as much, anyway.”

“Cooking is love made tangible,” Bucky said. “That’s what Ma used to say.” So, that’s where Steve had gotten it from. “Owning a restaurant was her way of making her family as big as possible. I think… I think she would have liked what I’ve been able to do, bringing Steve and Nat and you and Clint and everyone together. Keep us whole. She’d be happy. Families share. It would never occur to her to turn down Clint’s money, s’long as he didn’t break himself to do it. He’s family. Not what she expected, maybe. Dad was always a little disappointed that I wouldn’t be passing on a family name, you know. But still, it’s good.”

“It’s better than good,” Tony told him. “You’re a miracle. I’m sure your mom would be proud of you.”

Bucky smiled again. “She’d have liked you, Tony,” he said. “I wish she’d lived long enough for her to meet you. But you live here, so at least you’ve met her, in a way.” He closed his eyes briefly, took a slow, deep breath, relaxing. “Probably should turn in. Nat’s gonna be out here first thing, so she can strangle Clint. And we’ll have a big brunch, just Dockside family and friends, figure out what we’re gonna do with this money, yeah? And… get you moved in here, right?”

“Damn straight,” Tony agreed. “Not that the moving is going to take long. I have maybe one box of stuff and a surfboard.” He grinned. “More time to make sure we’ve christened the place properly.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I like that idea.” He put the picture to one side and patted his legs. “C’mere, you.”

Maybe that interrupted making out earlier hadn’t gone entirely to waste. Tony wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and twisted, swinging his leg over to sit on Bucky’s lap, knees tucked snugly up against the back of the couch. “Hi there.”

Bucky drew Tony down, brushing his mouth lightly over Tony’s lips, a hint of heat and pressure. One hand cupped the back of Tony’s neck. “Hey.” Bucky traced Tony’s lower lip with his thumb, as if rubbing the kiss in. The abrasion from Bucky’s finger, rough and callused, heightened the sensation before Bucky’s mouth returned, kissing harder, longer, coaxing Tony’s lips apart.

Not that it took much coaxing; the things Bucky could do with his tongue, even while they were both still fully clothed, were probably illegal in several states. Tony let him in, tangling fingers in his hair, sinking into the pleasure, lazy and slow.

Tony’s hips rocked without conscious thought, seeking more friction, more heat. “Mm, baby....” He managed to slip one hand between their bodies and start working the buttons of Bucky’s shirt open. “God, honey, you make me crazy.”

“Tony, I--” Bucky rutted up against Tony’s thigh, and oh yeah, that was just right, that angle, _perfect_ \--

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzaaat!_

Bucky’s phone vibrated hard enough to rattle Tony’s teeth, the jolt starting at the base of his dick, pressed against the pocket where the phone was, and going straight up into his jaw. “The _fuck--_!” Tony jerked back in shock so hard that he overbalanced and nearly fell before Bucky caught him and pulled him back upright. “What the hell,” he panted. “It’s gotta be--” He craned his neck around to check the clock. “It’s two in the damn morning, why the fuck is someone calling at two in the morning?” The phone buzzed again, less tooth-rattling now that sensitive parts of Tony’s anatomy weren’t pressed against it.

Bucky sighed, digging around in his front pocket. “Nothin’ good, usually,” he said, finally unearthing the damn phone. He glanced at the screen and thumbed it on. “Clint? Is everything okay?”

Tiny but frantic, Clint’s voice came out of the phone just loud enough for Tony to overhear, “Oh, god, oh, _god_ , Bucky! Are you sleeping with the dishwasher?”

Bucky dropped his face into his hand. “For fuck’s sake, Barton!”

Tony leaned forward to put his mouth closer to the phone. “He _would_ be, if you weren’t _interrupting_.”

“You are! Oh, wow! So _that’s_ what Bobbi meant!”

“ _G’nite_ , Clint.” Bucky jabbed at the disconnect, scowled at his phone a moment, then turned it all the way off. “Now, where were we? I think right… about… here.”

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WbHhiaklIcEx2cEtwdUZFaDE4X0w5TTN4NFYw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap for Safe and (the) Sound, but don’t despair, there’s still _lots_ more to come in the Nights in Sandbridge series. [Subscribe to the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/700245) (or to the authors) to make sure you don’t miss any updates!

**Author's Note:**

> We have SO MUCH LOVE for our artists! This wasn't even a bang fic, all these amazing artists just jumped in and wanted to make art to go with this and we could NOT BE MORE GRATEFUL. The art is AMAZING, every bit of it (and seriously, we'd squee over _stick people_ art, but everything we've been given is SO GORGEOUS and ADORABLE and HEARTBREAKING by turns. You guys are THE BEST. Four thumbs up for: [ssyn3](http://ssyn3.tumblr.com/) (chapters 1, 5, 23, 29, 30, 31, and 34), [monobuu](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/) (chapters 1 and 8), [novarain01](http://novarain01.tumblr.com/) (chapter 21), and [themidgey](http://themidgey.tumblr.com/) (chapter 23)!
> 
> Come check out the [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com) blog, or follow the authors individually at [27dragons](http://27dragons.tumblr.com) and [tisfan](http://tisfan.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stem the Tide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980336) by [27dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons), [tisfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan)




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